gian can’t dance,

around, i looked and saw invisible gardens, invisible cars, invisible doors, invisible sun invisible moon invisible man — submerged, resting in a river of floodwater.

i remembered when i learned to dive from my father, in the night time by the pool.

i remembered because i dove into the muddy waters; because i was stupid, curious, human.

and there were stars. under the water there were stars, constellations shining reluctantly

in the dark. something you might not know: the bottom of the ocean is a dark place.

except for a star in the distance, faraway, too small.

“too far away,” it said, “the earth is too far away.”

“and what is water like?”

questions, because we only see the reflections of far things, a star takes a thousand years to die.

this is why we look upward when we try to remember things, or when we try to imagine. the universe reminding us there is only one past

and several presents.

i remember in the night time by the pool.

i always thought of the day when all the city would become a shore — just tides and mud, tides and mud, tides and mud.

how wonderful to just fall asleep.

water is a strange thing, try holding it with your hand.

have you ever tried remembering something before it is gone?