7:45
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One
There was a blue hose that snaked along the center of the garden. It split space into two halves.
The center pool was full by the same color, this deep blue. Just after dusk, the water that sat central to these halves healed into one continuous plane.
It must’ve been 7:45.
Our eyes skated over the top layers of this watercolor. It was our compass.
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Two
When we looked straight onto this horizon by day, the bright forced our eyes shut. With our lids just closed, the Phosphenes drew circles like moving lanterns.
The rectangle. The curvature of a hose. The line between up there and down here. It was a momentous facade with no back, a rug, reassuring escape to infinity. Our appetites dangled over these images like mobiles.
I want to lay there. That’s you swimming. Is my body heavier than the water inside. I want to weigh it.
A Buddhist instructor guy once said that desire is based on separation. Makes sense. So we piled on the desires, the urges, testing their weight like a ballet dancers limb on a bar.
- 2014
