Has it come? Far from- as if as from a dream. We lie, heavy to our right, an anchor on a callous. My eyes are ever-open, one-ways, cast in turn of breeze’s wake. When was I here last? This place is familiar. What did I lose here? I trace in curtains of a wasted day. We hold quaint, but has it come? Stead-wise, has it come again? Riddles, spells, and anecdotes. We hold quaint, but at what means? What did I lose here? The river flashes fingers wrapping ribbon. My skin peels back; callous or blister? Naked nerves bleed out. When was I here last? What did I lose here? Has it come at last.