Floyd

When we still wore skins like savage leathers, sometimes shiny with cheesy smears, when we tended to fall into roseflower bushes, stitched the wounds with goat hair yarns, and cared for them with moss and resins, we stole honey from the bees...

Goat skins lurk at every gateway to the night. The black sky shines its darker resins on the sleeping breath of animal skins, on the dying fires in the pastures, their smoke in the dusty furrows of the walls, the dry hay on the wooden...