47.2 - Spring 2018

Page 200

Lorde says hard feel-ings / these are what they call. Keen on those moments when the sky’s light hit the water. When the water’s edge turned hard pink and then faded down to a flare’s wake. When a ripple. When I reached into myself to grab a tear, to tear me away that I might not turn to water so much as I am already water, so much as I am the absence of water left in particular layers of earth. Of the stone heart what’s more true: cold or hot. The moment before sand or the moment just after. Whose responsibility a fault line. As children the layers of mica peeled away easy without the stop to consider what’s after. Been missing those iridescent pages right at hand or maybe we looked harder then, maybe more diligent to discern a shine, maybe the sun just so between the leaves, maybe more re-bar than deer path, maybe more rock than slime. See there where I broke? One’s own habit through the lens of one’s own anything else. Fuck this wired day or how to miss the eclipse 192


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