I am glad that my master lived in a one-story house when I began to traverse the early stages of love. For when he would speak of the wonders and the beauty of creation, I could not control my happiness and would commence a dance that most always resulted in a dive, head first, out of his window. And you only broke your big nose seventeen times.
I woke up in the middle of the night and climbed out of the tent to make coffee. There was no sound save the wind and, in all that space, not one light, just a scant new moon that hung in the sky like a fine silk thread. The twentieth century had vanished. I raised my cup in a toast.