It occurred to me that I entered the world with the intention of capturing a single instant.

Perhaps this desire is all that separates me from the corpses that are carried away by the floods every spring: longing along the length of sad rivers. I have seen these same rivers wash the dead out of pastoral graveyards and gently set them down on city streets; install them behind cash registers and kiosks; animate their corrupt bodies - as softly as the wind combing the yellow hair of wheat fields.

Perhaps there is less separation than I imagine.