Slow Glass

30 images Created 6 Jun 2023

[…] through glass softened by decades of abrasion and dust – that light of old photographs rots away like a leviathan in the rushes. My daughter crushes flowers onto white cloth with a hammer. The colour will fade, I tell her.

The city is hard and frequently I rebound from its surfaces. It’s like an old film but the subtitles are wrong. My daughter crushes flowers, even though she knows the colour will not last.

By night a bare daylight bulb is visible from the window. The artificial light, which is for the benefit of plants, illuminates a cell in which time itself languishes. Too often I am afraid of buildings; afraid of the subconscious spaces within them (I believe they are darker than the woods).

[…] at the whistle we all stood photographically still. Statues of children, dramatically frozen, mid-action. Coloured squares on rectangular card released us and we drained away until the playground was as empty as it is today. We passed through classrooms, heavy even then with 30 years of lessons. We passed through houses. We pass through.

Do I believe in ghosts? I don’t know.

A blackbird, its colour predicting the imminent night, is singing into the dusk. The vapour trail from an invisible aeroplane stops dead. Then, obsidian darkness and just a word: <i>firmament</i>.
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