Resisting the urge to be held as a hollow statue in the mist by confident forces.
The memory of a light that permeates as if it were surfaceless. Waiting beneath the shell is the optic nerve of a mother still breathing in the sun.
Everything I'm attracted to out there is an attachment to the reflection of my wide open arms. It is all a map of the depths of my entanglement of light and darkness. My concrete vision is an approximation of a moment on its way to its true destination.
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