the cold came down nordic. each flake landing on its sibling, incrementally adding more depth to the blanketing whiteness. the only contradicting spots roads no one was traveling on. i know. It is my job to see. I am BiNoc, The Eye. Like the third, I see what is not visible. The horizon extends out before me unknowable only until i glance upon it.

i am human; with supernatural vision, yes but human nonetheless. snatch out my heart and i shall expire. that is why they keep me prowling a penthouse not my own, protected, barricaded, by men and women also not my own. i am given everything i want except that which i want most: to forget the horizon and get vertical. to explore up and down instead of left and right. to feel concreted earth beneath my booted feet. i am so hungry i even want to feel the swell of oceans.

water, of any appellation, was something i avoided in my past life. i didn’t drink it. i showered in it daily and that was the extent of my interaction. dishes, clothes, anything requiring water’s cleansing properties was taken care of out of my presence.

only in my dreams did the fact that of the earth’s inhabitants, water constituted the majority become a reality. in my dreams, i was dolphin, shark, shrimp, plankton, dead bodies, even women walking dusty miles to collect water from the rivers or streams i occupied. in detroit, i was blocked from pouring out spouts and diverted to golf courts. in my dreams, i was political in a way i never was whén awake.