. Sometimes I am stone,
as if the same all the way through.
Other times I am light,
as if made of only what I have touched.
.every day has a cool, quiet room. by antonfrost
at the center of it.
the walls are light coming and going.
the window is an opening
in your memory,
a chapel between moments.
the edge of your life curves there
and you become more of what you have always been.
the distinction between
falling and rising
is lost in the space between particles
and everything grows.
Opening the windowThe air smells good,Opening the window by antonfrost
like stone and cold water.
The daylight flashes back and forth
between today and my dreams
as easily as stepping across
a foot wide,
a universe deep.
Winter is ending.
For good, I think,
like I do
For LThe arch of your foot,For L by antonfrost
under which lie all the catalogs of longing
grazes mine while we sleep.
At every touch, another universe splits from this one
and we are in so many places at once
that the ache rouses us,
our dreams spill their electricity
and we close the infinite distance
always between our bodies
by feeling that we are the same.