will row til your breath turns gold swish, my oars taped up with christmas lights, will row until i know where i am going. from here i can make out most of the dock lamps, the dim-lit pier posts and the lack of shadow beneath them. will just keep rowing, slicing individual words thinner and thinner, fold myself in half eight times to show you i can do it. if nothing else, will row just to build the muscles to hold you.
Psychology, UNC-Chapel Hill