Serrated light makes victory transparent. In Arizona rock purples like a bruise I carryon my skin. Barbell scything my shin like Lorca's moon scythes the frog. I knowwhat it means to hold something so fragile, even wanting too much can rip it open.The calluses on my hand croak and skip through my pond palm, fingers like saguaros rise ancientand bent and the frog cannot tell the difference between the sky and its reflection. Daily I strokevictory's forehead with my thumb. Daily I come away with blood and cannot tell whose it is.
Taylor Franson-Thiel (2026) studied this question.