In time.

white and black seal on shoreline

Because your first language was translation between surface and depth, solid and void, active touch, and bodily abstraction, many were prone to fantasies of keeping you, collecting you in tomb-like cells of preservation. For time, they said, but you splashed in it.

Your nature was evasive as the substance of shadow and prone to grow and renew its seeming self out of bounds, and convictions had a way of sliding over your skin like bathwater, the force of you resolute in its refusal of definition beyond liquidity, demanding to be passed between vessels, your eye forever in your mouth.

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

5 thoughts on “Child”

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