Wade

Wade into the slowly moving rio, pressed tight between walls, from upon the streets where expanses are all occluded, everything has a relationship drawn in fragments. She cannot clutch the city whilst getting caught drifting into reeds around corners. Yet, lost down within, a relationship impossible through racing straightness is cultivated, she is subject to the invisible eddies, the deep currents, the stagnant dead ends, the life cast into the reeds, shes sees why, for self preservation, the streets redirect themselves, why they hide covered places the sun cannot touch, standing water connects continuously with the great network she believes she is refused from but which she cannot leave without drifting throughout. On all sides are walls. Afternoon sun flows through southfacing gaps and falls upon her neck and shoulders. Long spells and days spent watching the shadows drift across the opposite wall, and shadows of clouds drift through those pale frames of light at conflicting speeds, bring her the protection of familiarity, the familiar everchanging skies. She is claimed by this space, identified by its coordinates, its stillness, its address, its name, all of which she adopts. Sheltered in these times, although the road extends far out to the horizon, she can maintain focus. The noise of the city falls away, the repeated blocks, the names, and the mysteries. She stalls here and there not from personal interest, or any sense of fit or acquiescence in the rigour of gridded walls, but out of a necessity that these things prompt, to claim the blank, the mutable, by merely occupying it for as long as the tides allow.