i am going to rip myself down the middle into two pieces because there is something in me that is neither the right half nor the left half nor between them. it is what i see when i close my eyes, and what i see. as in this room there is something neither ceiling nor floor, not space, light, heat or even the deep skies of pictures, but something that beats softly against others when they’re here and others not here, that leans on me like a woman, curls up in my lap and walks with me to the kitchen or out of the house altogether to the street — I don’t feel it, but it beats and beats

m