*
New Year's Day. She stepped into the woods behind the dorm. No one there, no color beside wet black and softest white. Black of trees and thorns, very heavy the way it dipped. Moisture within and without.
Be with me there.
Between each thought the same substance as between each twig. Between the branches of the trees there stretched a "there" that was not space but something deeper and perhaps more frightening: the possibility of space. The fact of a space, the opening that as if condescendingly allowed space to be there.
The poetry of the place was the place itself. No, the place was a decal and beneath it what the mere shell of the colors covered.
Be with me there.
In the New Year and at any other time.
*
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