In desperation, I grabbed two sticks and rubbed them
together, as if I were feral. "Fire", I whispered, "please;
fire". Nearby, she was tearing off her clothes, slowly and
deliberately, looking more and more primitive to me. I
brushed away the piles of dead moths, and ran my fingers
through my hair, to fend off the live ones.

I threw a piece of gray meat at a crow, and my dog lept
after it, yelping. It reached the end of its leash, and then
gave up. My wife was making sounds of sobbing, but I saw no
tears in the dust around her eyes.

A year later we both sprouted dark wings and blocked the
sun. Our shadows smothered the earth, became the earth. She
was as beautiful as when I first saw her. "Eve", I said to
her, "we are alone again, as it was in the beginning". She
laughed, and I felt a wind rising from the soil. "My love",
she said, "this is the beginning".