157

.

she could only ever be seen
not by those who ceased looking,
but rather by those who exhausted it.

.

.

156

.

the abyss too
was a bridge.

.
.

182

.

his limp only became apparent
when he sat completely still.

.
.

155

.

like her,
the world returned
their awe.

.
.

154

.

unfolding
she veiled herself
in herself.

.
.

181

.

sitting on the side of the road,
he would once again find himself
enveloped in a fog of clarity.

.
.

153

her offering
was the simplest
and most natural:
that the world
would disappear
into itself.

.
.

180

.

he looked up; but, in a brief moment of honesty,
had to admit that the view was essentially the same.

.
.

152

.

for those who were able
to maintain a certain confidence
even the desolate wake of her absence
would be fertile.

.
.

151

.
each leaf
whether of tree
or speech
was but a withered sun.
.
.

179

.

setting down his cup, it readily found the ground of its world;
while his simply fell away.

.
.

178

.
unsupported
he would lean into the light.
.
.

177

.

he might have felt that life was fleeting,
yet even that would have been overstating it.

.
.

150

.

she always entered silently,
or so it appeared
for there were those who claimed
that she never left.

.
.

176

.

the curtains had been drawn
yet light still spilled into the room,
leaving him to wonder
whether it was the world or him
that had sprung a leak.

.
.

149

.

for those that knew her
bathed in light was not just an expression.

.
.

175

.

he suspected that freedom,
if freedom there were,
would lie not in choosing
but rather in remaining
within the unsupported.

.
.

148

.

those who were truly familiar with her knew
she would brook no compromise;
there were only two options:
either all would have thrones or none.

.
.

147

.

she cleared her shelf of all its contents.
then put them back one by one
until it was empty again.

.
.

146

.

others were never sure
whether she vanished within things,
or if it was things that vanished
within her.

.
.