Read an Excerpt
Resin
I am going to die.
No such thought has ever occurred to me
since the beginning of my exclusive time
in air when I, having made up my mind,
first began to wrap it, slowly and continuously,
in strips of linen soaked in a special admixture
of rosewater, chicken fat, and pinecones
studded with cloves to stop them from dripping.
Nor is it likely I would ever have had such a thought
in the time required by me to finish the job,
if someone else had not first introduced the thought
into the process, thereby interrupting it,
however briefly. But who?
