The core, a pond. Slow tides shift gracelessly against the edges, a glimpse of bone meeting the warm pink twilight of this shadow. Which shadow? This shadow. Here. Where? Here. Oh, yes. I see it now. So silent against the naked beige of those streetlights. Why didn't you say something before? Why didn't you? It slips noiselessly into form, silent, wet, bored, incapable of boredom. You cry.