details, bleached and splitting, warping
as if in the sun of my thoughts--as if my mind
were a thing of light and not just pressure.
there is a time, it told me,
its words as crystalline, as incised against
each other
as cut
glass,
to drink the juice
from the vein.
but i was awake, sitting up
as if from a dream, as if from a bed
i had slept in
as if a seed in earth
and the whole time
i had been watching the light twist into shadow
as if there were anything in this world
beyond
the wild reach
of pressure.