One night the wind blew down and blurred the colors of earth, to make them insubstantial. I walked among strangers. Blurred myself, they blurred beside me so that we moved like leaves at a wind-dance, oblivious to each other, alone with the sky. I raised a thought to God. God’s voice whistled, and sighed, but […]
stale stairwell air is a pretty phrase for the fluid that fills the gaps inside this stack of stairs. we are drawn in invisible buckets or plunge down only to bob up again tomorrow.