By the easy slide of cool water, she, who is always flying, slows down. Maybe she’ll drop her bike, there, on the bank, lots of shady spots beneath the trees. Maybe she’ll pull off her shoes. Wade into the water. See what the pebbles are doing.
Nonfiction
Drinking the Ocean: Notes on Travel and Drowning
Right up until the point when I drowned, it was a pretty good day. I held the tiller of an empty nineteen-foot Zodiac, drifting just outside the surf zone of the Tuamotus atoll of Pukarua, a picturesque ring island of coconut palms, frangipani, and torch ginger….
Like a Dazzle
We called it the Dick Book, but it wasn’t actually a book. It was a magazine—Teen Beat, Kirk Cameron on the cover—with several polaroids of a naked man tucked in between pages.