Edge

I cast across the the graying water. Older now, silently it moves past, shedding remnants of

any connection to an endpoint,

carrying only a single dream

tethered to this, this very moment of stark edges, subdividing time into odd segments of fascination, punctuated by the hydraulic of change.

Anomalies. Incandescence. Sequences, made clear only in retrospect, neglected until now, on this razor-thin precipice, in the belly of hopeless hope where I may yet one day find purchase in the mortal soul of my folly.

I stand waist deep in the coursing remains of my days, to cast across the ages into graying waters, searching...