one out of season morning, we went out looking for a name. We did not know where names make their lairs, whether they favour rock, dirt, twigs, or wires. And because every other space was already taken, we started by looking where emptiness still lingers

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we used to like the tides. Once. At least we thought so. We liked how when all the water retreated somewhere unknown new landscapes appeared on the ground below. We always felt our youngest when the tide was at its lowest, when there was no way of knowing what the ridges on the sand would have looked like another time

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first, we went to look inside a walnut. We chose one that rattled when shaken or rolling down a molehill, so that there would be more emptiness between the fruit and the shell. It was dark in there, the line between the two halves sealed too tightly for light to filter through. Inside, we found: flakes, ridges, cliffs, dales, meat, oil, smell, sound. We slept a bit. Then we left