Documentation

Aware of my un-

balance, the

necessity of my toes,

I rock on the still Jetty’s basalt,

tilt on clumsy pockmarks

dimpled and raised in the sand,

precipitate words

because I’ve become

unacquainted with heavy air.

When he isn’t watching,

I take pictures of him. Face to sky,

pink clouds, the right angle.

Kneeling, salt catches

and holds light, grip broken

if the brine rises or when

gravity pulls into its own—

He says, “No camera could capture

this. I wish I could share

what I’m seeing.”

(What were we so afraid to lose?)

A sandbar into the lake,

inches

deep.

Reflections bright

as if our doubles walk toe

to toe beneath us.

Holy cupped bowls of salt.

Spilled flames orange and white.

($91.20 for film processing,

red stripe leaking light)

What’s left:

Dry high docks,

gulls, black rocks.

At a distance,

cut off by the thin

waterline horizon,

they wear one tall shadow

of grays and blues

drowned out

by the peeking sun.

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Rachel Davis grew up in Utah surrounded by cats. From a young age, annual trips to Goblin Valley, Moab, and Washington Lake stoked her love of Utah’s land and an addiction to seeing the Milky Way. She holds a BA in English from the University of Utah and a certificate from the University of Denver Publishing Institute. She loves to watch horror films, read thrillers and poetry, and soak in cloud-filled skies.