June and I went to town early; both of us pulling boats in the now blue sky - mine proved hard work even though it was in full sail. After a breakfast in the Old Faithful geyser I came home (my hands inside plastic bags). June stayed in the jam doughnut middle of town all morning while I secured myself around its edges - manufacturing in my head the image of an anthropomorphic chisel being sharpened on a wheel. I had turned the wheel hundreds of times before June had finally walked home using butterfly nets for shoes. While alone I had placed coins in my own mouth and rowed mine and someone else’s imagination back and forth as the tourists of a collective consciousness sat on a canal boat sipping nectar. When I got near the mountain’s edge I thought only in echoes.