But I used to be a horse and what it is to run along the water with all of yourself is what it is to live. There’s no metal in your mouth, no guiding hand at your cheek, no bag of sugar cubes or praise for your learned docility. You can pretend you forget what it is to live, but it’s just that, pretend.
This is my monster finding its port, this is the siphoning, the spinning that brings revelation.
After what feels like hours of waiting, it finally drops anchor and all of the pirates jump over the the hull and swing ropes onto shore. The dancers emerge and guide them up off the beach and in the rough-hewn, thatched-roof cantina, we drink with them and listen to their adventures. Their hungers, their thirsts, their old shanty songs and we take notes. They don’t mind us eavesdropping, not so long as we let them dance with the dancers and drink all the mead.