Confess

We no longer know the difference between the darkness and the light, no longer allow our fingers the delicacy of climbing inside, feeling around the sinews of our brain, of our heart, of our instinct. We no longer muddle around in the swamps inside, the dreams, the shallow pools filled with marble rocks.

Notes On Gathering, Ben Stamper

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Rebecca Fraser, Night or Light?

passages through

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Andrew Hendrixson, A certain Kind of Eden