There was nothing in the sun that morning the day after we heard the story about shapes in the sky. Might have been strange clouds; might have been we were underwater at the time, so we just thought that wasn't a fish. We thought about it. One of us said: It's the sun. There's nothing in the sun but the sun as there's nothing in me but me and the oddness sometimes of others. Which is fleeting, I said. Like being full.