In a Hollow of Sound, | Jesse Breite, Faculty we devote ourselves to small things— brief glimpses of light through the blinds. The flora gives answers to every silence. The afternoon cherry tree blossoms dissemble mid-air. We walk down the street, fill our hands with what the curb collects. My son throws petals back into the air, if only we could toss them back into bloom as light does with so much decay, offering daily matinees in April. We give small things all our attention. Emily and I sit at the table looking at a thousand puzzle pieces, try to shape them back together by color, likeness. You can almost forget yourself completely. Each piece a small, quiet misunderstanding blurring to frame, islands to something before. It’s small, our devotion—we hold it in our hands.
homesick, chinese brush painting daniel du ’22
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