"Am I married? I don't know," Coyte said. "Have you already eaten?"

"A plum," Dobson said.

And in the crevices and stuck onto her lashes—sand was in lumps all in and around her eyes.

Why didn't she wash the lumps away?—or just pluck them out. Not the eyes!

...

Dobson was meant to represent, I believe—with her exceptional physical nature—a nearly redeeming being. To whom? To me.

Lamentably she's missed her chance. But just now I have yanked the blue frog out from a muddle at a street bazaar.

The Blue Frog. When I say those words I expect a reprieve—a tavern—tranquility.

I see myself in Ireland. We drive and I spot a road sign—TO THE BLUE FROG and we go in and have a pint.

You have to look at the glass frog with the sun on it.

It is the sheer pool of eternity and I would like the blue frog to go down into my grave with me.

Excerpted from How High? -- That High by Diane Williams. Copyright © 2021 by Diane Williams. Excerpted by permission of Soho Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.