The Corridor of Dwelling

Paper – Breathing Skin Paper – Fruitless Peel The appearance of the world satisfies me. Doubt hides the light, which enters in stripes through the shutter. The shutter is embedded in an architecture of openings. There are three rooms, their order is not important: In the first one, I am squeezed together with Divine concealment and rub up against the narrow, transparent filaments of his broken wings. Eyes averted, hesitation, liquid writing on the wall: “I wanted a prophecy!” In my dreams there are crawling creatures under the sand, they are dead. They are fossils. The patients tossing and turning in their beds remember them, moving between mattress and sky. In the second room, there is a whitened chaos. Long, old hairs soil his bed, accumulate in the corners. He arranges his things: opens a drawer, closes a draw, runs a finger over a frame. They say he is preparing a bill of absolution. Beyond the partition lives a righteous man. A faint vibration passes among the palm trees visible through the wall of his room. The vibration of vertical shaking: up and down. Between the rooms stretches a corridor for waiting. The place of the final loitering in which the man inside is futility meeting space. Does God remember us? Does God want us confront His strangeness? Blessed is God.