No longer magnetized to the wind and weather. No longer wanted, for the moment, by death. In this place your hand could not be larger than your hand, your face could not detach and go floating, you could not be standing six inches to the side of yourself, your foot could not be “too far away.” Yet what a thing it had been, to observe from outside myself. What ink in the bloodstream had persisted? What part of me, throughout, had still tried to depict?
