(Regan)

I would like to be a part of another person, their hand or their leg.

We have to die: I can't believe it, it's too sad. What are we to do? What can we do until then?
The things my father told my brother and me, the constellations of a foreign sky.
All of the galaxies, my goodness.
I remember the boy, and he must die the way every other man born of woman.

Sets the bottle in the streambed.

Yeah--indeed. The stars say.
All of the galaxies. And Schubert says it.
Pariah dogs out under the night insects.
The dawn. So polluted. It's so beautiful, I'm so full. The universe passing away and coming back, as if it was never anything interesting at all in the first place.

My job I hated. My boyfriend was a pain in the ass. City life was a big hassle. None of it matters.

What do we do with our deaths? I smell the beautiful scent of flowers, and the movement of the fresh earthy river, and fish underneath churning it with the movements of life.

Well, we must die. I see my death, as if it were a girl who looks like me but blonde.
My blonde twin.
Striding across from another galaxy. To meet me, here of all places; where I live.