CHORUS. Turning into Randolph Scott. Some things never change. Dried-up, extraordinary -. Alkalai on the range. Once she was a humid child. Nodding toward a place.
I heard your voice at midnight. By the river shore. I saw your child sleeping. Behind an open door. The moon was in the river. Shining up from the floor.
Late last night I stood outside this room. Without the moon these windows were black. But I could see that I was not mistaken. And I would never be coming back.