I had to imprint an early morning idea on the sand of a deserted Cycladic island before June and I sailed out of our shouting head house, the torso of Medusa tied to our mast. We reached almost dry land and walked among talking stones, then singing ones and finally stones that simply marked spots on the ground. We had a meal near one of these spots, June choosing something layered like bed linen and me a collection of plates and bowls. I eventually brought them together and called them a congregation, just after consecrating a church to all trapezoid life forms. June later tried on a coat of medieval masonry in one of its crowded aisles: watched by a number of strange birds holding halberds and a creature with the head of a child and the body of a pangolin.