
It’s not hard to go swimming at night, so long as
the surface is calm. Stars shine on themselves
and you, venturing farther from shore, drift
between them—among them—your own spaceship, and
the water that looked so dark and full of secrets
becomes the only thing keeping you from falling up
into the cosmos, with an embrace you’d return,
if you could—like how pines perched on cliffs,
gnarled roots keen to the gravity of the situation,
so fiercely cling to eroding rocks and crevasses—
because sometimes it can be hard to differentiate
an act of quiet desperation and one of love.
Poem: JOHN BLY grew up pulling milkweeds from bean fields and now works to restore pollinator habitat. He appreciates maps, all four seasons, public transit, people-powered movement, and a good night swim.
Art: OLEKSANDRA NORWICK is a Ukrainian who moved to Minneapolis, where she started everything from scratch on new terrain. Part of this transition consisted of going back to making art—returning to her roots, nurturing new beginnings, and exploring the nature and essence of the feminine.

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