No house here, no furnished rooms — only water, rock, and the seam where two canvases meet, a division built... Read More
No house here, no furnished rooms — only water, rock, and the seam where two canvases meet, a division built into the support before any image was set on it.
One body lies flat on the rock's edge, already out, already seen by no one in particular. Another breaks the surface just above it, half given to the air, half still claimed by what it left. Below the ledge, where the cliff cuts the light into two darknesses, two more drift further down, smaller, paler — not gone, but going, held at the point just before disappearing fully.
To vanish completely would be its own kind of stillness. What this holds instead is the tension of staying at that edge — faded enough to have let go of wanting, present enough to still be there. Each body has only ever done what water does: taking the shape it's given, adapting rather than yielding.
