at eye’s edge: periphery blur, the waters pupil-depth. Gnawing on bits of paper we consider leaping from the farthest point of leaning trees, risking a healing limb in the mirrored clouds trudging into deepening light. The sun deflates swollen gold spilling winks on the lake’s eye, taunting consequence of ingestion, our lengthening shadows bent into jagged banks like a single drop of water thinning mid-air, shedding humid flecks in a ballooning penumbra. Some are safely anchored to the unseen below, while others are determined to kayak back to town. Those of us lingering in trees laugh at fading reflections, backpedaling clumsy footing from preceding darkness, blind above shallow waters no more collected than sinking surface suns at the eye’s edge, the waters slurred center.
Ethan Phibbs currently resides in the outgrown shoes of his hometown, Jacksonville, Illinois, where he works odd jobs, reads and writes. An avid traveler, he hopes to experience every rich culture our world has to offer. His work is forthcoming in Unbroken Journal, Mulberry Fork Review and Ink In Thirds.