Since 2012

The lock already knew how to refuse a barge that would not fit. Faces were next.

Beau came off the river logs. Odile came off a muni that sits in Red humidity. The lock office is what they built so fade would stop being a rumor from a poster.

Spring Street still smells like wet steel after a rise. We kept the log culture from the lock: a chamber either holds or it floods. A face either starts left of the window or it never enters. There is no third column for hope.

Players from Highland, Broadmoor, and Cedar Grove bring shapes that looked honest on a range that never felt this moisture. On this bermuda they kiss the right bank or they never curve. The lock exists to stamp the window this town actually uses.

We still keep Sunday and Monday down. Lock houses always did. The chalk does not get smarter because someone wants a window before a weekday lunch.