The lake is grinning. You can hear the lake and its schemes, the umbra behind all that mesmerizing blue.
Blue is color dead to itself. Blue is the cataract called sky. Blue pretends while the infinite animal runs naked running its fingers round the swell of stars that sweat like oysters. Ah.
You can’t drown in that blue. Now shush. I hear the lake undress.
I watch with my son a slasher film and we become unknown at the same time in our revelation that the poor would time travel to the exact place of their exit might they be more creatively poor. I am furious still that attraction in Eden began to matter. My brother hates the human body for what a machine can do. I don’t think my angel knows I’ve died. Don’t think my brother.