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The universe has no edge or center. Yet we who traverse in it do so along perimeters, always, man-made, conceptual and defined. Try and pin- point the center, and we go there. Or is it where we are at a given moment? We are bound by boundaries: arms length or under the hot sun of a horizon. Trace edges, visible and invisible; place me in a box as I walk around in circle. Or is it equilibrium we seek: like the mallard bobbing on the Hudson River, afloat, content, afloat. |
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postcard from Pomegranate, art by Basquiat