my bones crack; as he puts his hand on the back of my neck; warm and solid like an asteroid on fire; i ask him where he’s been; he says up the mountain; to fetch a pail of water; and surely the pail is set in the corner; overfull; like the seas on the lunar surface; brimming with life; teeming with the lunarians; i walk the perimeters of lakes; oceans; ponds; i dip my toes in and giggle; he says; you have that expression on your face again; and his words are like swallowing a mouthful of salt; poured out of crumbling reliquaries; he says in his gravelled tones; i love you; but i am busy crossing frigid terrains; and i do not answer