Incantatory buzzing, the cracked bell sounds and the friends are all hovering around, anxious for my welfare. What was it I meant to say? It's gone into that red/black world that rocked with the movement of waves. The sacred union took place at 2000 feet above the cold ocean, before the bride was bled and fell, and her bed was rocks and brine, and her hair was matted dark matter --webbing for garlands of seaweed and harsh twine, and this is not at all what I meant to say, but she the storm won't let me forget that other part of the story.