“It came to me in a dream,” he pointed to his wrist, “Eridanus, the river of molten stars,” his finger lingering up as he moved along the tattoo, “the forest of Selke,” grazing his forearm, “the Bledsoe mountains themselves,” moving along his bicep, he reaches the bottom moon, “the many moons that rotate on our axis,” he looked up, the same moons in limbo above us.
