David Gilmour ---- water

Koon, It is wonderful how free-running water flows unblocked everywhere on these islands. It Taoist to a T. Nothing resists the running water, nothing contends with it, it waters the land from high in the green escarpments, it runs like water chasing water. Slip of the Faroes Dreamworld lost on this foggy commons, watered green in uncontending streams. Silver slivers slip through palisades’ cracks down escarpment crevices, ravines ripped apart showing the way on watered stone. Summer broke, fifteen minutes ago, it’s a Monday, One Eleven to One Twenty— Six post-meridiem, opening a nanocluster of snow-blind diamonds before irises found purchase on late imagined electrics, late July liminal with general magic sparks. Water runs in sun sparkles following the path.