Water and Black Memory

In april 20 20, i accepted a virtual invitation to be with water in the gesture of holding space for la montania. The group planned to meet delegates from 30 countries to trade histories of pain, rage and world building. For now, i split myself the watery depths. Part of me has remained at shore, bridging disasters. But what is home if not a floating horizon? Work between water and sky, breathing between water and black memory? I place language at the shore. Water decides i will become it.