AFLOAT

A snag in the season’s grip, cool points of precipitation on glassy skin, glistening like blips of light in the distance that take us where we want to go. A place not in its prime but in its glory, a stilted kind of story that has only a dense middle, no beginning or end, sparing us from confusion and leaving us with just the guts. Where you find yourself when you walk without purpose only curiosity, the liminal and sublime, free of limiters, absent of time. Suspended in a mostly empty pool but with a bottomless deep end that will remind you: you can swim, you can swim, you can swim.