What Brought Me To My Knees Mathias Svalina begins delivering dreams (individually-written poems) on bike to subscribers in the Denver area every day before dawn. Dreams, June 2017: "You are walking in the desert before dawn when you come to great pit. The pit extends as far as you can see. It is full of scaffolding & cranes & half-built skyscrapers & new condos. Workers in hardhats & orange vests rush about, lifting beams & digging trenches & welding things to other things. They are building a brand new city in the pit, a city of right angles & white paint & freshly cut stone. A city of tomorrow. Then the sun rises over the horizon & sunlight beams into the pit. Where the sunlight hits it melts the pit-city, the half-built structures turning into water, the scaffolding collapsing into puddles. They have built pit-city out of ice. They must have known it would melt when the sun came out. You decide to write a song about this, a song called “The Ballad of Pit City.” Before you can write the song you need to find a guitar. You walk down into Pit City, hoping to find a music store or a pawn shop, but all the buildings have melted. The workers are huddled in the shady edges of the pit. You walk up to a worker & ask where you might find a guitar. Not here, the worker says, not now. But you should try tomorrow. We rebuild this city every night once the sun goes down. You thank the worker & walk through the flooded puddles of the melted city. And who is this person walking beside you, carrying a bundle of firewood? It is enough to know they are a friend." Birds fill the sky near Salida, Colorado. At a meet up for Fort Collins Flat Earth, a woman shields her eyes from the camera. All members are skeptical of the science behind a spherical Earth and some even doubt the theory of gravity. Half a dozen children attended as well. Burn zone near White River. The 2002 Big Fish Fire was one of Colorado's largest, burning 17,056 acres. A flag is lit by a solar-powered lawn lamp for drivers on Interstate 25 near Dacono. Casualties for Coloradoans in Iraqi Freedom are 66 and 36 in Enduring Freedom. Kayla is a homeless middle schooler living out of the Stay Inn motel in Aurora, CO. She recently won a scholarship for her writing and proudly displays one of her short stories about a massacre at a carnival titled "Pop Goes The Weasle." Shot on 120 film. Like many residents of the Tres Colonias neighborhoods of Fort Collins, Jose Sandoval was first drawn to the area for its cheap homes for farm laborers. He came from Chihuahua, Mexico in 1975 and eventually bought his home for $14,000. With expansive development and the New Belgium Brewing company just across the street, home prices have soared (one recently sold for over $350,000). Sandoval and others are losing their neighborhood. A plywood church in a field outside of Palisade, Colorado. Shot on 120 film. My sister Natalie and her Imogen. "When I take her down to the water’s edge, when I hold her tiny foot in the cold, and clear, when I stand in it and splash for her entertainment, all the waters from all these histories collide. From the puddle of amniotic fluid that soaked my toes in the hospital to the puddles I couldn’t leap while pregnant, from the laboring hallucinations and flashbacks to the contractions like waves, from the obsidian pools of her eyes just opening to her searching, piercing expressions, all water flows to the lowest point. Imogen’s eyes dig into me, hollowing and filling me. Her eyes, like whetstones on which I must drag my meanings and hone my understanding, ask and ask and ask. Water always flows to the deepest place." –Natalie. Shot on 120 film. He looks on towards the crumbing ridge line of a old mountain and jokes thats it must be the old mountain he has seen because it certainly has the most wrinkles.