The moon's reflection bored into the flat water like a hole into the sea, like the ice well where Tert Card's father's hairy devil washed his pots and pans.

The moon's reflection bored into the flat water like a hole into the sea...

... but there's other things in the sea that's a mortal danger, and they can never have names because they shift and prowl and vanish.

The sky a net, its mesh clogged with glowing stars.

The fog tore apart, light charged the sea like blue neon.

The water is a dark flower and a fisherman is a bee in the heart of her.