Event End.

event end.It's that Familiar tug at my root system: Silk-and-milk sin shaken awake by the Surge of the engine. A bird with a nest in the bottom of a boot heel, Sitting Shiva for a kingfisher of men who Asked me to wave at him through the water. The North Atlantic or the River Ganges, I'm not sure which, but I'm slipping into the Higher tide, regardless. Scrutinizing this sand so thoroughly, In search of my foot's impression, but My toes told me this: I am [Blue lips trembling under ashen sky Mosquito-strewn spine baptized by phosphorescent rock A compass floating just above the surface of the sea]Barely there at all.

-Phoebe Shaub