47.2 - Spring 2018

Page 188

But what I want to tell you does not fit inside the little gilt edged card, nor hand. Light lives outside of tunnels. Together the crystals form a cluster of mirrors floating at different heights, showing you the light as a column. We, our. Where shall we go? Moment we elasticize, wish would never over. Receiving. Ruins of day. Rink street. Sliding filigree trees.

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