We deepened along the shore, gazing beyond the three-dimensional. In ultra-marine emblems we lifted into a non-materiality we could not have previously suspected. All those centuries of June before having met symbolism as an architecture of lies. I always thought impoliteness was the worst dishonesty, so much so, that I failed to notice liars. What deepens depends on the deep end having nothing to do with dependency on a common mirage. The first time I escorted myself toward one tiny habitable enclosure I saw a brink of poverty, chaos and trauma. At first I told myself I would not stay. Then looking with those other eyes, not of flesh—or not even eyes, except that we are most familiar with seeing located in this fashion, globelike, in the skull—I noted that even though distress was actual, it was also non-existent. I drove through ruined streets to meet you knowing that illusion would not stop. And though I can describe this most easily as a gaze we hold wherein one version of reality slips, allowing another to emerge, simultaneously—all of the worlds are present.