No, I refuse… it started as a refusal
The incessant need to look around me and unclaim this transparency
It arrived quietly, light rearranging itself across a room.
My life folded into textures: the rinsed hush of morning,
the scaffolding of my wandering eye feasting on scent,
a scent that insists on being felt.
Somewhere between ritual and accident,
I became annunciated into tracing life by hand, touching it, marking it,
unapologetically intervening so as to please
my miniature grandiosity
-H.Ll
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