- Vol. 02
- Chapter 05
He carries silence on his unusual arched lips waiting for my father, whose coarse voice and stick still loiters in our ears. I have moved on but Jack is there white , and mournful. In the morning as my hand replaces my father's carrying the meadow hay he stares blankly with his head hanging low. His stubborn eyes arrows the sun until it bows to welcome Pleiades and their silver moon. Like the red nose reindeer of Santa, Jack then journeys the stars to find his master if somewhere he is unwinding from the yarn of cerecloth.