HOW YOUR EMAIL FINDS ME
in the way September doesn’t exist poolside, ankle deep in a debris field of branches, chlorine whispers promises, a smell of smoke permeates an end note, the phone keeps humming against the glass side table, continuing flow of more notifications in fire season and the water is cold, slip into the surface, dip in head deep, watching the light bounce off the bottom still, tortuous veins from the final moments of a four pm sunset gripping a naked treeline, needing to click on the phone’s flashlight soon to figure out a way to escape away from the edge of the pool.