If time is an illusion then how do we transcribe the moments of a life? If the boundaries between life and death, love and loss, truth and fiction, are boundaries of the imagination -- then what does it mean to be a mortal being swimming inside the frailty of flesh and blood? If memory is unreliable then how do we explain shared experiences that meet us at both the surface and bed of a lake? In her collection of prose poetry, THE WATER CYCLE, Gordon...
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Poetry