I stare at the light on my ceiling, nacreous, coruscating confetti. I am rushing across the maps in my mind. I cannot sleep. I think of eucalyptus trees, brocaded bark, the softest of yellows; I would braid the branches through my hair. We drove up the northern coast, through a great divide. We found a secret bay, a silence, a breath. The ocean was lost in the land, the waves kissed the banks. It was raining, wet skin, wet lips; outside it was all eucalyptus.