He stepped in a room where the light fell exactly in the same place at the same moment and stopped falling into its own space. The ownership of the light’s space must seem a comical thing: to say it with precision one must preface it with the owning of the owner. Walking circumferentially about the central luminosity he stopped to discover the absence of both color and prismatic possibility. Pondering the separation, by degrees, by a metric system yet to be invented in the west or east, or a by way of directional analysis, pondering it slowly he discovered how it was ennobled appearing spiritualized with so much fear in a shimmering refraction. Insofar as origins: its dangerous to be one’s own accomplice.
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