Things are the changeless mirror in which we watch ourselves disintegrate.
–Bruce Chatwin

in time i was no happier but i built things of life, i did floral arrangements really, sotted colors force eyefuls, i thrust them under sad lowered lids because it was that that i envied. and this way my face was the next thing they’d see.

i worked like a chemist saying what all would change and when nothing else did i was forced to: first screaming at silence then hunting for birds until my fingers had raked ten acres of air and sown a life that was no dream

it voided my pleasure and voided my fears so that it all came back to me,

the life i did not invent. ninety-nine percent. it was all still there. so

the truth was what i had tried to deny, my vision was that i had chose to be blind

and something quite beautiful was not trying anything

because the things i wouldn’t see were so obviously shouting i cried