It dials us back.
Takes us like someone’s
Maligned horse
Through the portcullis
Of maybe shadows,
Of definite twilights.
It leads us to water
Thick as propolis,
Urges us to drink
From its gaseous hands.
When the conflagrant soul
Slips out like absconding music
It turns and lights the pilot.
All that we are just
A magnesic flash,
A sheet of lightening
In the dry ravine.
–Art by Kaia Pieters