Here, a description of stalemate looking past shore. Here is the fragment, the stunted word store.
Life brings us to the dedication of the droning fisherman, all his preparations for autumn—thermal thigh-high rubbers...
Land trauma, spill snot from earth. A hole so deep on fire and imagined ends/endless. Glory arm reaches in.
Speed is distracting.
I've a faith prescription.
If you multiply geography by time you have right here.
Wake into a dream, or first glimpses of the afterlife, God just beyond the threshold, saying you can have anything you want.
To be held fiercely, a wave: be still.
Sudden awareness of the possibility of absolute loss. From mire, everything's riding on this.
Sunlight, our undertaking.
What it means to, in the absence of wholeness—side of the self, caught by glimpse. How could we have not seen this before?
My bright scarf, a masquerade. Hinter swan.