A clear angelic wave harmonizes with a soap bubble. Everything is bright green and light, blinding you slightly, but in a linear way. Spring is here and it’s the 1990s, and the day is young. Your mother reminds you that tiny bell shaped blossoms play an important role in your life as it begins to lightly rain outside. Simplicity is sweet and energetic, you sing to yourself, celebrating this realization. You never need to surprise god. Heaven is simple.

Imagine a rose underwater. (But not rose water.) Between you and me, a vast pool of maybe blue. A single rose floats slowly in a protected orb, as if it were the only glimmering oxygen in outer space. Back on earth, the world is flooding, even in millionaires’ underground doomsday bunkers. Every dance, every marriage, every birth, continues on watery stages of some apocalypse. A full moon illuminates pink petals bathed in chlorinated droplets.