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though she had dreamed in Uukumil, she’d done so quietly, in secret. If someone chanced by, she closed the book she was looking at. She hid her desires inside an old tin can. She never told anyone what she hoped for.
She catalogued all his looks and thought she knew them by now. This look she did not recognize. It reminded her of the movement of a match as it strikes the box.
Before, the owl had captured Hun-Kamé’s full laughter in a white shell. This time it brought two shells. Tucked neatly inside a black snail shell lay Casiopea’s sigh. It was a delicate thing, like a nocturnal butterfly.
