THE FRAUD OF GOOD SLEEP by Catherine Theis

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In the middle of my walk, I find myself in a dark wood. I enjoy the dark light. Though I cannot see myself, or other creatures very clearly, I don’t mind. The plants and trees perfume me with their sweets bands, restoring all unhealthy territories of my body. There is plenty of cool water. I swim and bathe every day and do not conserve the water. The earth is rich. In its frothy loam I find jewels to eat, which unsheathe themselves from pods and shells as I command. I can hunt small wild animals, but I don’t. Instead, I spear fish in the cool dark pond. My left hand hovers over the water’s surface; my right hand stabs the water. I build fires in the morning, in the afternoon, and at night, using all the wood I can find. Again, I do not conserve. The merrily crackling fire warms me. Fog begins to circle and rise, mixing with

the fire’s smoke until both things are indistinguishable from the other. At night, the crab keeps me company, the very ancient one. I source him up from the waters with a call.

At the end of the Earth,

Eveline