A knife is to a body as a ship is to the sea. A small woman before, but now that the work is near, she is a giantess. How does a vessel choose its path? So many possible routes, suggestions in the stars, half-remembered superstitions, promises in the wind, and above, a waning, half-lit moon. Crisscross the ocean with that upright ironclad, set loose her estuary of secrets. God’s eye closing.
