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We should have started from this: the sky. A window without a sill, frame, or pane. An opening and nothing more, but open wide. I need not wait for a clear night nor crane my neck to examine the sky. I have the sky at my back, at hand, and on my eyelids. The sky wraps me snugly and lifts me from below. Even the highest mountains are no nearer the sky than the deepest valleys. There is no more sky in one place than another. A cloud is crushed by sky as ruthlessly as a grave. A mole is as enraptured as a wing-fluttering owl. A object falling into a precipice falls from the sky into sky. Granular, liquid, craggy, fiery and volatile expanses of sky, crumbs of sky, puffs and snatches of sky. The sky is omnipresent even in darkness under the skin. |
I eat sky, I excrete sky. I am a trap inside a trap, an inhabited inhabitant, an embraced embrace, a question in answer to a question. To divide earth and sky is not the correct way to consider this whole. It merely allows survival under a more precise address, quicker to be found if I were to be looked up. My call words are delight and despair. |