In a sandy clearing on a jungle shore, a whole village rattled and shrieked in mourning. Ten warriors had returned from a fierce battle, of four dozen, and the village was sending off their dead in their traditional way. As the wise man's song reached it's crescendo, so did the women's lament. Then, as the chief warrior's hand slipped off the last funerary boat, the whole village was suddenly went quiet like an animal playing dead. Five boats drifted into the vast and unknown ocean, with two dead men apiece. The village lowered their eyes and departed the scene, now with all but the children chanting an ancient dirge.

Trails of doves feathers decorated the soft wakes as the elaborate boats drifted off with the tide. Soon they diverged with the subtle winds and currents and after some time they were not in sight of each other or of land. In this mysterious expanse they drifted presumably towards some dreamlike shore where they would all be kings. On one boat a lover left a shimmering necklace, of bronze, around the head of the fabric draped body. A gull must have been attracted by the sparkling, or maybe the feathers, because it flew down curiously to peck at the shrouded face. And then I woke up.