What kept her eyes open was not the muscles in her
head but an interest in everything about her. Every
day, something new, or something she knew from
the day before. Stare at it long enough and her hand
would move; only when touched would it come into
focus. If it wasn’t accompanied by volume she would
touch it again. Touching something twice plus
volume was to know what it meant to ignore it, and
never again would she touch it.


There were times of darkness and two times of light.
Sometimes inside there was no light, except the
light from the outside, which she preferred. It made
her happy, sleepy, though not enough to stop her.


Outside light was sometimes shade, but she knew
it connected to the warmth she preferred. Not the
blanket it made when the house turned on but touch