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ArtistEvery time I glimpse consciousness anywhere I fall in love again. It hides in border collies that count the sheep better than arithmetic, in horses whose silence is only another language waiting to flower, and who knows what conspiracies those ravens exchange beneath their black umbrellas of sky. Sea slugs—sea slugs!—they carry cathedrals of color upon their breathing flesh as though the ocean itself had learned to blush. The stars fold themselves into leaves, stones remember rain, and every eye becomes a window opening into another universe. My heart is no longer mine; it is scattered like petals across beasts, waves, feathers, moss, and light. I walk through the world astonished, weeping not from sorrow but because love has become too immense for one human body to contain.
Every time I glimpse consciousness anywhere I fall in love again. It hides in border collies that count the sheep better than arithmetic, in horses whose silence is only another language waiting to flower, and who knows what conspiracies those ravens exchange beneath their black umbrellas of sky. Sea slugs—sea slugs!—they carry cathedrals of color upon their breathing flesh as though the ocean itself had learned to blush. The stars fold themselves into leaves, stones remember rain, and every eye becomes a window opening into another universe. My heart is no longer mine; it is scattered like petals across beasts, waves, feathers, moss, and light. I walk through the world astonished, weeping not from sorrow but because love has become too immense for one human body to contain.
