A Flight of Petals
a response to K. Prevallet’s perturbation, my sister
Trumpets and clarinets grow in follicles from the crevices of his thought, and blaze the world vermilion within the terror of the night.
I have seen a series of pictures. The world. Various beginnings and endings. Like walking through woods and brush in the dark. Insects will find your legs but you can keep walking. Eventually light will fall on the lake there may be a path on the other side. Terror is always possible. You are terrified of your own changing landscape. Someone tells you ‘don’t go. Stay with me. I am here to help you. If you stay.’ But you cannot stay. Your move is past due. The trail has disappeared from overuse. The simple feel of grass becomes complicated. If you look up, you will know better how to start walking east, and you will compose this piece for various instruments to play simultaneously.