James Nye

Flowing through city streets between the brick buildings that have sprouted up over time. The wind rushes like a current and eddies around corners. Cracked asphalt covers up any evidence of groundwater but the contours of the valley pull me towards the river.


Past the houses and the plazas and the fields with the trees. I forget what it’s like to be taken by the breeze. With the water in sight I remember why I came here. It’s languid ways and patient pulse course through me. My thoughts and concerns are suspended, floating and drifting downstream. The southern flow’s gravity is an antidote to our frantic ways. In this moment I too am carried away.




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