I HAVE WATCHED the boat of a god bring the sun, a great and wonderful sight I must set down here so that it shall never be forgotten. He steered the boat that held it. With him were a baboon and a lovely woman who wore a plume in her hair. His head was that of a falcon. When the sun cleared the horizon they were gone, and their boat with them. Perhaps the falcon-god flew away. Perhaps it was only that they and their boat could no longer be seen in the glare of the sun. I would like to ask the woman who slept with me about them, but feel I should tell no one. Some things are too wonderful to be spoken of.

We are in a ship at anchor. I remember lifting the anchor with another man. We threw it over the side, careful not to be caught in its cable. The woman had made a place where she and I could sleep, in the stern too near the captain and another woman. "Come to my bed," she said, and motioned to me in a way I found irresistible. We lay upon a folded sail and covered ourselves snugly with the sailcloth, for the wind grew cool when the sun was gone. She whispered of love, and we kissed many times. I caressed her and she me, I wondering always whether the others slept; at last I heard them snore. When we were exhausted and ready for sleep, the stars above us shone brighter than any jewels. They seemed close enough to touch, tracing men and strange beasts.