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