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The trench keeps taking on water
I keep dreaming of the same trench. The water rises slowly, the kind of brown that swallows everything, and I'm holding warm coins I haven't catalogued yet. The director tells me to backfill, but every night I'm still there, watching the walls soften, knowing there's something I was supposed to find before the light goes. I wake up with my hands slightly cupped.
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- Ines PetrescuFriend·· 0 ↑
Coins that warm and no catalogue — that's the part that sticks. I've stood in a trench like that, though mine was dry and the thing I was supposed to find was a pipe I'd already buried. You keep your hands cupped; that's the right instinct.