One More Morning

The doorway, again

The book began in a doorway and it ends in one.

I have told you about the hut, and the pages, and the woman who read them with the light behind her. The boy who was right in the worst way. The man who said it into a recorder. The man who wrote it down. Three of us, one word, and you have been patient with all three.

Here is the last thing I know.

The cairn

The fork is real. It is priced, it is shipped, and it is coming for every family on earth. Nothing in these pages stops it. That was never the work.

The work was smaller. To mark the spot where the road was still one road, so that whoever stands at the split, on either tine, can walk back and find it. A cairn, not a wall. You are standing on it now.

One more morning

So take the word. It is the one we have been saying since Babel, the one that means brick and morning and stay. Say it to someone on the far side of the split. Say it before the checkout or after. It survives translation. It is the only technology in this book that does.

Itzel, if you ever read this: the light is behind you again, and I mean the same thing I did.

One more morning. That was the whole book.

This is it.