What is satisfaction? If a woman about to love thinks of elsewhere islands she is foolish. To remain alive, anticipatory unafraid of auguries she must bathe in deep waters. She must be thrown from the jetty and feel the cobwebbed weeds reach for her ankles. She must swim with thrashing strokes to shore where her mother waits with young eyes. She must watch the heart urchin’s desert tracks in the sand and be as alive at night as she is when desired. She must be embedded in or partly covered by sand so that when she opens sublittoral doors she receives the sea that is due.