Everything is now on view. Vision becomes skin. Seeing her awakens
artificial light. Brief moments under mourning call
her to unveil mirrors moving to night.
This is the closest I can come to his work. This brings me to the edges
of our loss. This is how my senses respond to your coming. I want your
tounge to be placed in my mouth as yours to remain yours to bring with
it the intangible voice spoken from your birth to your more recent address
to the world. Soaring are the impulses for language lately.