Have voice from between silence and authority, so that reassuring quick compulsions as you destroy and attack can last. None of the silent and empty men, or boys, believe in living memory, only in the evening dusk and foggy morning. I thought about everyone else, kept away, in my cold considering of the sun and night and helpless sound. Away but in an awful time, back in circles, lost as ever and wandering in a helpless way. There was a stranger by the grass and I could see his eyes, quick and cold and hard. I was seeing my senses - sight, smell - and a faintness seemed to topple away and leave me alone, where there were no strangling men or *****, far-away wildernesses. Foul and torn, a cruel face with no eyes hit the bone and screamed a breathless, lungless scream, as though the whole place had stood up, ******, and left. I should have died. Noise was coming from hard men's voices, white burning and white flesh, when they saw and called out to them. Rasping on the thorns, I understood that the boy, and everything else, was like an acorn falling from the oak tree. The man left and I went slowly rolling into the choice I was choking on.