The turn from text to context opens a path away from being. Discount deeds, being will always already have been breath's deed.
An account anterior to thought's alterity. Exegetical horizons, distant clearings, illumine dusk in bruised blue. Light grows faint as soft words spoken open locked doors. All is at hand, naked as starless night. Print's black impression blankets heaths. Breath folds and unfolds the terms. Form tucks tongues in reverie. Rest relinquishes any wish to signify.
Dream anoints spirit. The distance from everything is equal. It is an alchemy where pale leaves become gold coins as they touch ground.
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