THIS AREA IS shades, mangroves hovering out of themselves. Tilt-a-world undersides of palms with that voodoo skullshine. A default transparency. Stock shot: green on green. Run-through (rehearsal). VistaVision blue. As from house to house the roofs begin, push the sky back. 60’s formica counter one continuous line coming around and closing itself; any cut surface can terminate. Tiny flecks, someone’s dream. Inside reading the story of the deluge. What comes before it, what comes after it. Meaning reinforces a tempo that in turn reinforces meaning. Somebody came and somebody went. There’s never only just this. Dozens of breezes mark the town. How the sun divides itself into smaller and smaller units going down the horizon. Drop one’s eyes. Fairytale wolves starting a pace under the red light. Getting lit by these small lights, flashing it back at it. Decoration lights made up out of what was written in the pages no one would know how to save if they tried. Certain types of restlessness when dimensions cross. This road that circles back to other surroundings you see now from the road but don’t recognize later. As if we could roll, roll the film in reverse. Spontaneous cases of past-life recall occur the world over. You watch the wolves watch you. Someone calling your name as you get closer. You are the water given back to here.
Living by the Great Salt Lake, Cheyenne Nimes is a cross-genre writer currently working on poetry/nonfiction hybrids. Work is forthcoming in The Shell Game, an anthology on forms (University of Nebraska). South Loop Review, Ninth Letter, DIAGRAM, Kenyon Review, Jellyfish Review are recent homes.
