“as a child i lived in a house with no doors. thoughts, drenched in sunlight, wandered through its spaces. they lived in the round. they dreamt. in time the sunset erected doors. vision recoiled from touch as angles replaced circles. the house, organizing itself into neat thoughts, closed in on itself.i drew keyholes. and
one eyed men. morning grew softly. petalled nuances drew from recesses, doors breathed, and bodies joined trees to give shape to light. like a bowl, the house embraced its thoughts. paintings became passages.
andi became a dream”