Colin Dardis The Instinctive Drowning Response It starts off white; it always does: the day holding on to an idea of purity. Yet the sun and moon are in constant battle, the skies, a warzone. A tuft of cloud fights against a sunbeam, warriors suspended. Consider the energy spent in forming the sky into a fist of lightning. Against such fission the oceans are charged with postcard wilderness. Churning threnodies for lost sailors, she receives the flashes and the falls. Engine and heart go down, softened together, twofold interment.
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