There is a calm directing of forces, of thoughts, of emotions, towards a single place and non-place, of leaning cypress and a dissipating early morning fog.
There is that shade of blue again, running like a vein, away and back again, carrying oxygen and nutrients to the flowers stretched out in the pattern before me.
There is a particle of fibre on the edge of a woollen tassel – it vibrates in a secret dance as though moving to every sigh, every ragged intake of breath, every undisclosed murmur.
There are layers of prayer that resonate in the walls, that cling to door handles and illuminate the borders – years upon souls, love upon doubt, questions upon certitude.
Open your eyes a mere slit, let the air brush past your irises, let your hands fall with the tide, let the light lift.
There is a calm directing of forces
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