The city after the snow was Medieval, the thousand paths wound as browsing deer. Inside her coat what wild heart.
The beads were rolled-river at her throat, milk blue on a yellow string. I can’t sleep she said, into his ear. The dog guarded her feet, eyes serious with cataract.
He folded a small squid eating sugar from the table top. The murmur of the room might have been plaintive, not for the smell of caramel.
One bright claw and it could have been done, all of that. The mothers drowsed and woke clamoring for the woods.
He walked the stone hall to the tourists’ kiosk. She waited touching the cover of a book. Men it seemed stood on hooves.