She listened with her cyclopean eye to what the umbers had sung when their baritone hues leached light from each low note. Not a linear song, but the past-present spent in the everywhen … where one might not utter what an ancestor lived, or might do tomorrow or today. Colors' throaty spectacles plot certain unseen rhythms even cicadas fail to drown. To know a thing is to hear the drum of scent, touch the chamber of its stillness, and feel its wisdom in your fingertips, the split of your tongue, and in your toes' faint ringing.
About the Author
Koss (she, they, them) is an artist and writer who received her MFA from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago. They’ve had over 150 publications in journals such as Diode, Kissing Dynamite, Bending Genres, Gone Lawn, Chiron, and many others. They received the 2021 Wergle Flomp Humor Award and two Best of the Net nominations for poetry and fiction in 2021. Koss also had work included in Best Small Fictions 2020. Find links to their work at koss-works.com.