" . . . in a no-man’s-land of waters and silences, to raise the hollow of that fingered conch to my ear..."
" . . . they seem to drag, the blistered skirt is so low. From the hat, one would say a man. But it is a woman, by her tresses and her clothing."
" . . . and we discerned, not burning but set ablaze by the sun, boats that looked more like the braided tresses of women . . . "
" . . . and the island on which man and woman, the first ones, created by the dying star, went crazy and broke their golden canes."
