For you these walls are tightened air. Are chairs of solid water. And
those houses, elements shaped. And for you the same, but various airs -
winds in clot; breezes boxed; gusts that are unsure. But for me: - all
this is time coming through. Halted. Moving. Waiting. Delayed. At a peak. In a fall. This photograph is a catch of it passing through. See
how that chair is a sturdy pause of it? See the table, a hoping wait? But the wall surrounding the window is a gone of it; and those blinds, a
reluctance of it to stay - a want of it to go. While the houses roofed
in the distance - can there be distance when all is time? - are the
mutes of it entombing. And through it all these words are spray; a fingered wisp; an issue.
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