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Alyson is two people: she is you, with a broken heart, and she is also a snail floating on a leaf that’s just realizing how to track the stars. She lives inside the word “maybe” and breathes possibility at both ends. And what’s wrong with maybe? “And when you’re through, I’ll be free. But is it you, or is it me?” If you haven’t asked this question, you have never been in love. And if you don’t carry it with you, you’re not ready to enter the slipstream where two people become formless. In Wake, feeling the pull of what has passed through her and also the light of a new day, she carves shapes into that gentle shapelessness with her exacting utterances. Each stakes claim to some very particular region of in-between and offers you, flesh and fluid that you are, a place to step your real foot. Take hold and climb amongst her tiny discoveries and you can meet her there in the middle. Let go and listen. When she’s through, you’ll be free too. And you may ask yourself that same question.
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