Thought Experiment: Twin Earth and the Glass of Water*

That was the day your mesmerized went awol on the shore. Each star, you said, was the same star. Beneath our sunny beach blanket an anonymous moisture spread like fur. It’s getting dark and darker.
 

Dusk is hard. Gossip travels worst when it’s low-contrast out; it stalls, and the air begins to crack. Droplets black as blood squeeze through fissures, making night.
 

What came from above—the forestscan, the cornucump, the mar—came violently on our feet. Finally, when it was time to order, you pulled yourself up from the syntax we’d shared and beckoned for me to come. It’s just like rain, I said, as if to make amends. Every arm is the same arm, you replied, and took mine.