Fending off dogs with a hooved lurch, I accepted that this was not a secret pact. This was not the sovereign agreement, the low feint that kept the king above water, with my horns passing just below the surface. Always moving, nomadic, without a place to rest. This was the house they built for me: only a series of turns, walking, walking. And then the dogs.
This void was no longer a void, but took on the choral structure of an agreement. We sing it together to force a bright home.
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