Magellan’s in his cabin, studying old charts he’s made to fool his cheap and wary crew. A stiff wind blows, and we sail down the street: the same old tack, me listening to you. I wonder who is bold enough with words to circumnavigate himself like this? Magellan leans across the rail to spit and stares across his wood and water world. I hold your hand. I hope you still can steer because I’ve got my eyes shut tight again. There’s monsters, but I don’t know if it’s fear of them that stops me looking, or just pain. Magellan’s at Cape Horn. We’re not, and I am ready to turn back. I guess we each discover life with fear. He’s getting near to everything. I’m further out of reach. I’ve washed up in a tavern on the shore and hear the news as if I knew before: Magellan didn’t make it. How can I repeat his story, but not even try?