Aukume.
Tidal force
We were supposed to be at another destination that day. I had not estimated the time of potential dragging, of props, of ourselves, along the waters edge to reach the initial idea.
A sand dune.
Not lost for ideas, we went back to the side of the road where I had spotted a fallen tree and became enchanted by the forest it lay in.
Perfect for a fable, for a fantasy, a bed of sticky pine where the moon slips in between the gaps of trees and later cracks of rocks.
Us as animals in the back of our brains, truely we are really at mercy of our regressive and futile attempts to be in the flow of nature.
There feels like no success if not to rest and let the moon carry on.
Wringing lack
from a body, as if it is a dishcloth.
How must it feel to wake up in a forest wearing gleaming silver antlers, and very little else? wet is grief, wet is dancing, wet is memory’s disintegration.
A withering
And yet they persist your yellow slip dress and your button up shirt.
By Collaborator Amit Noy
