Without words by making an image. Stitching time, fusing our bodies to a specific environment. In Malmö we will share in a stitching conversations in the Boarding school. Our poetic self is a joint body, we are a translator to words.

A fire burning feeding on black threads Sown into eyelids of all the corners Consuming time It is to breathe the slit air you cut with your hand through a window To look for words and finding them elsewhere elucidating in the fire pit Glowing when not a void appear…