DEEP SLEEP Gretchen Fletcher I dive deep into briny sleep, a semblance of the salty sea I swam in before I was washed onto the shore of life. There, where time marches on without chronology things not yet experienced are forgotten and things already in existence can be created. Submerged, I explore wrecks lying long-forgotten on the bottom, now crusted over with a calcified patina. Just ghost forms of the originals, they lie oddly juxtaposed with phylum-less creatures that swim in and out of hulls and bulkheads. Their jewel bodies flash past in the murkiness, and I strain my eyes in vain to see them again. Their movements defy Newton's laws; their forms negate Darwin's theory. These depths are governed by their own rules. I hold my breath and buy into the chaotic order of the place. I'm only passing through, after all, and will resurface at length.

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