The Golden Crossing
Act I Does the gold remember the shape of the hand that forged it, or does it simply remember the weight of the debt? I ask this because the loom is singing a low, metallic note that vibrates in the teeth, a sound like a mule refusing a heavy load, and I am trying to finish the indigo cloth for my mother’s burial before the winter freeze sets in, but the wood is weeping a liquid amber that is...
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