“–to wound the autumnal poet?” he asked. Dry leaves were scattered under his feet. The in-dark cried out for a name. A whole, closed universe seemed to swirl in the silent space between them, full of passion and confusion and love. He felt all language sunder on silence.

She asked him, “What… who… will you remember when you remember me?”

“I am limited, finite, fixed,” he replied. “And I am afraid that the universe is infinite and incomprehensible. That time loops back on itself like a helix of semi-precious stones, twisting and stretching like a snake swallowing its own tail. I will remember that you opened the doors of perception, and allowed me to see everything as it may really be. Infinite. But I remain. Limited. Finite. Fixed.”

She shook her head, not understanding. He thought he could still hear them, walking in the trees, not speaking. Out of the halls of vapour and light. She said, “Goodbye my love. I have come to–”