I spoke with a woman who had been there too. She explained that the
moon was her flash of hope, her only friend. They speak to each other
and count each line upon the pale skin; they paint pictures of one
another and dance to celebrate the light, the indifference of the sky,
the physical earth and all her vibrations. She explained that without
the moon her love would turn coffee black. She leaves and blesses the
bus with both hands. We drive into the desert night and it's quiet.
