Tell me what you know about salt, how speech can be a kind of thirst. I could swear that once I heard my name as rain caught the fingers of pine trees, that I heard tide whisper into shoreline, I am. I am. Tell me, is it holy to speak, so much fluid in the lungs? That when I listen long enough I hear a voice underwater, feel the Dead Sea pooling in my throat?
- Bryce Emley, “Prayer, Apostrophe”















