081413 #worm He is in a barn. Not just any barn. This is the barn where the barn-dancers played. This is the lightning-bolt, faraway-dog-barking, amaranth-hidden, long-abandoned barn of not-so-secret ritual. This is the first place the river travelers slept, before they were created. Surely this barn housed someone's hard-nosed livelihood, some half-forgotten sepia time ago, but now it is impractical, and very much alive and free. This barn is off the map. This barn leaks moonlight, but the roof keeps out the rain. Come on in, come on in. There's plenty of room in the loft. There's a narrow staircase. The dogs are going upstairs too, reluctantly because it's dark, but you know the way. You will encourage them, and they will follow you. There are ghosts, but none to be afraid of tonight. You can stay all night; there's plenty of straw. The willow-haired girl is a big girl now, red-haired and slight. Her smile is naughty. She smokes. She hands Me the cigarette. He inhales slowly, sucking as much air as smoke. The tip glows. The stars glow. He exhales as much breath as smoke; the two clouds go their separate ways. The willow-haired girl claps her hands, as if Me has just performed a virtuoso caprice on violin. Me hands back the fag. Me and the girl go upstairs, brushing past spiders' webs and mud daubers' nests. Everyone else has gone now. Me and the girl have mischief on their minds. They kiss. The kiss is a variation on a theme of light. They've been up all night. They know the deluge is coming. It's only a matter of time now. Me has to go downstairs to take a piss. Wait here, he admonishes playfully. You're free to go, she says. But he doesn't take the stairs; he opts to balance on the grain chute that angles hypotenuse-wise, outside toward the ground. As his weight passes below a surprise fulcrum, the top of the chute flies up and the bottom flies down; Me free-falls several feet, and hollers. The invisible dog barks. Me explores the lower level briefly, finds an empty stall doored in by ancient grey wood. He unzips, lets go. His piss turns fine dust to mush in the dark.