a hole in the wall is like a lens a building is like an hollowed container
It is a projection of time through something that doesn’t move
Where does a mountain end? The line is movement, the movement is life
The pulse of the building continues to bleed like a rain, falling onto what enters to the lower, and to the upper gallery
A life comes and goes through this building which she speaks to, through which she feels the half light
The ending of it is lost, though as it always led us back to the beginning
That is where it is supposed to be
A moth, nearing its death a moment for a breath,
Imago flying
You see through the gap the slit, and the hole
the darkness where the light is the ephemeral
That is, like a brief moment to be filled
fertile silence, an inserted comma
The cat disappears into shadows, a nuance of love
I think of her she remains here through my feeling her
an opening line of lament’
