Depth Perception
1 Minute Read Time
Anish Kapoor, At the Hub of Things, 1984
In larval dark, an early instar of music, blue
Burns cold in uncreated space, blooming
Inaudible, un-auroral, into the almost visible spectrum
The first low indigo note, under the silence, a thrum.
The odor of overripe fruit blown close in summer
Dusk. Heavy with sugar, purplish in its cloud of moths
And humming flies, the skin of the fig, the teardrop,
Cracks—Oh and O—incurable now, comes open.
Read more from Issue 15.1.