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...

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

At least he could turn on the shower, stand beneath the hot needles, face thrust near the spray head, feeling the headache move back a little.