River of Luster & SawCarolyn Guinzio
And when we got there we saw the ever sleek greens in a light that had been gone for a quarter of a year, your skin glowing. Light falls a certain way on the aftermath of things, or, your eyes are still wildly trying to stop in the center of two extremes, the body in the bath. I have not forgotten that there was a you there, an I. The terrain made it possible, traveling voices, faraway sounds up next to the ear, voices spiraling into the shell, sleeping on the floor in a bent sliver of light. You were pulling the weeds away from your ankles, wanting to be the first to be immune under the moon. The magnetic mineral glimmering river will sever the not from salt for us all. You can not be, but you can’t not have been.
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