Issue 14

Distance is blue here, blue and unlatched, as if what you thought was going to be a starched white curtain of a day is filling up, billowing out. Clouds darkly looming make a ceiling of loss and when you lift your arm you can almost touch it. Grief is smaller too, as if you could step over it [easily] with your seven-league boots. Even the brass compass pressed into cement lacks authority, can’t keep its points from breaking formation. All the mountains and towns and dark tops of trees are escaping their circles, rushing headlong and motionless out of their latitudes.

Winds come freeing and your mind is blue now too, clear blue, rinsed with wind and light and absence, and nothing seems to mean what it does. Suddenly you’re convinced you’re the sort of person who can start a fire in a flood, who rides horses bareback, who handles kayaks with aplomb. Suddenly you realize you could shake your paperweight life and make a blizzard of sadness. The violent tint of your mind radiates enough heat to fuel your heart forever. The silence of your cell phone is lost in a perpetual tango of risk.