When we take off our heads we will kick them around the yard, our heads, yours and mine, like soccer balls. Or we can bounce them, our heads, off of our wrists and forearms as if they are volleyballs, yelling volley, yelling spike, watching each other, you and me, over an invisible net. And when your head gets kicked over the fence by one of our zealous feet or we spike your head and it bounces on the ground and leaps over into the neighbor's yard, we will use my head then instead. It is as round and as even as yours. It is really the model of yours. You are sculpted out of me. Your lines are the lines of me and if we put my hand down on the placemat in front of us and trace lightly around its edges we will find that though yours is smaller, the hand inside of my hand is the same. So our two heads, rattling around the backyard, they are like having two balls we can keep track of, until the neighborhood swallows us up.