Cowardice breaks off on its path. Anguish breaks off on its path. The vulture breaks off in its flight.

The eager light runs into the open, even the ghosts take a drink.

And our paintings see the air, red beasts of the ice-age studios.

Everything starts to look around. We go out in the sun by hundreds.

Every person is a half-open door leading to a room for everyone.

The endless field under us.

Water glitters between the trees.

The lake is a window into the earth.