When I look at the sun as it settles under the horizon, I feel the end has come and peace I shall find until the hour the sun rises. Just then I’ll be thrilled at the thought of the fresh unexplored time in front of these sleepy eyes of mine.
She said unto the star-barren new-moon sky: “Night – be my eyes, so that I may see beyond the limits of that which sunlight reveals.” She screamed and hissed and writhed in the searing pain of the acid she splashed into her own eyes, but she welcomed the eternal honesty of an infinite darkness.
“The end,” he said. And then the sun went out.
I find it hard to believe the same sun rising is the same one setting on the other side of the world.
It is leaving and coming and moving and it is all so peculiar.
In my spare time I made paper.
In my other time I made the sun.