When we take off our heads our hands will touch as we trade them one for another and then I will wear your head and you will wear mine and so when we go back inside, having finished playing in this summer, my wife and your mother she will ask us what has happened and our knowing smiles on the wrong bodies will be no defense. With tongs in one hand and steak frying, she will be the illustration of how we look, her attempting our discovery. Because the hair that you have is lighter colored and my face has grown longer than yours, and we fear, in a laughable way, that where we dislodged our heads from our bodies, outside and under the clouds, there was some sign of the severing that was left uncovered. She will find us out, and know which one of us to pin this disaster on. And her smile will be on her own head, on her own body, looking at us all mixed as we are, my head on your body, your head on mine.