"The air was blue, you could hold it in your hand.."

moments as beads fumbled through fingers
like a rosary. that would be the worst fear.
it implies a lack of attentiveness to now.
an impassivity distorted into kinesis
in which pointless movement indicates life.

it's not about worlds orbited, but
the combination and culmination of those inside.
the absorption of dark and it's opposite.

refracting and reflecting light sculpted
into various guises all of whom possess the sky.

even the ones that leave you seasick.

because always behind the clouds still or fluid
stars stud black forming wordless worlds.
guided by more than the tangible senses
unto which like a net we stretch ourselves
and whisper encore.




title from "the lover" by marguerite duras