A pentagon of gilded perimeter lit the hollow at the back of my eyes, a vow in the language of sacred geometry, a visual representation of the longing that emanates from my being…I hadn’t remembered falling asleep…I swear I had merely blinked…it’s usually in those moments of quiet darkness, when my world is lit by two headlights, the head on collision that doesn’t even make me flinch, I accept the crux of matter, and I escape as particles of energy and encompass a realm of parallel self…I revisit that headspace and find a phosphene hued door, the most simplistic of outlines, with the most daring of depths framed within…portals often hint at promises that may not be kept, but this one has a darkness that reaches back at me in covenant…a Möbius strip of risk and ricocheting recordings of the ambient infinite

E. A. O'Connell. March 15, 2022.