A tale of old gods, modern men, and water-filled cenotes in the Yucatan Peninsula, it’s a source of bedtime restlessness and dreams about the deceptive haloclines that trick the careless. The plot unfurls as surely and as powerfully as a wave and this is a chapbook of which both author and publisher can be justifiably proud.
“I followed, ducking through a gap and into a new space. I had no idea how big it was, but it felt endless. I was dwarfed, despite the fact that my world had contracted to only this: the sound of my breathing; the dark; a thin, pale rope.”