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.