cool air and the perfume of the blue hyacinth in the teacup on the windowsill linger in the room. despite the season of dark and dying she reveals daily her flowers of lilac-blue. mother knew what she was doing when she saw to create flowers. even now we hold each other's hearts with their enduring spirits between our teeth. above the dirt her delicately layered bulb sits and in full technicolour bursts forth expanding into life. the only thing she knows how to do.
and all the eyes that read these marks, which are the world according to me beneath this bright moon cut in half, resemble stars glittering in the night worn at times like a cloak of dark. or else a magnifying glass revealing an intimate piece of the interior, concentrations and dilutions of translations of a filtered image. what i like is the power of standing naked whilst being in control of the revelation. a slow undressing. of peeling away layers. of drawing the edges and saying "look, here"...