A poetic trip from Nome to Council in photos.
The imaginary lines that we cross don’t come into play here.
Remnants of industrial hurricanes and broken promises highlight the divine’s sense of beauty.
A distinct difference of space bled by sun.
It seems, just for us.
May we bridge the gap between smiles and responsibility.
We broke bread here, once, in an attempt to find who we used to be.
Have you meandered through nowhere?
We acknowledge companionship, wade through the sound of skin color, dress our misfortunes in Sundays.
The reward of towering over space.
The reward of going where no one goes.
Will we run out of road like we’ve run out of conversation?
Will we rent our fortunes to the teary actress?
Nod to the man who hides behind his hair and holds noise.
Embrace the inevitable retreat.
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