[The stage is an entire open field. You can't see
where it ends, & neither can I. There is an owl, on
the ground, in what limited vision has decided is
the center of the field. The audience here, may
a**ume that whenever an owl is seen, d**h
should be expected. But maybe the audience
won't a**ume that here. Maybe the audience will
never have heard of this connection, between
owls & d**h, & instead look for some connection
between this owl & you & me.]
You: I don't remember what you look like.
Me: You look like a guillotine that refuses to work.
You: If you were here right now, I'd remember
exactly what you looked like.
Me: You look like a bridge where people stop to
look up instead of down.
You: When I try to think about what you look like,
the world diminishes for a second.
Me: You look like an entire forest has been cut
down, & inside each stump is an animal that was
once trapped, but is no longer.
You: To diminish isn't to fade, I think.
Me: You look like a water fountain with an “out of
order sign” posted on it, & little green leaves
beginning to peek through the spout.
You: Once I told you that owls can't digest the
bones of mice. The owl swallows the mouse
whole, & then later throws up the bones.
Me: I don't remember what you look like.
You: Sometimes they throw up whole skulls.
Completely uncrushed.
[At this point in the play, the audience has
realized something. The owl is no longer there.
Maybe it flew away.]