Aren't you thirsty, brother? Here is the well of stars. Here, the dark waters of the river. There, a bubbling spring. Drink deeply, and consider what swims and writhes beneath. For like a forked tongue flicks back and forth, like the great claw taps against the glass (To be let in? To be let out?) a clock, somewhere, tiks and toks unceasing, making what will be what is. And we are all full of snakes.