I thought I saw Jeff Buckley in the river that night. I waded out in the wake and was but a few strokes from catching up with the ghost. He was out there—of this much I am certain—and in pursuit I looked back to see the girls walk down to the water, peering out into the darkness, looking for us. It was a bastard current brought me back to the beach, but that which has returned is but half of he who ventured out; I was cleaved by a current in opposition. I emerged from the dark water, newly amphibious, feeling my feet planted firmly on solid ground, while part of me remains aqueous and swims now with my dream brother.
Amos Bankheadis a writer and deckman in an Uruguayan fishing village, contributing pseudonymous work to various publications.