There are whole worlds in grapefruits. Whole rooms and echoing halls and windows stretching to the thin sky in a grapefruit. I mean, paying attention to a grapefruit--whole or split in half or tearing the thick chunks. There's a wind in grapefruit. A gale carrying thoughts that make the body clench and shudder. A streak of shimmering drops sent down in a rush from the mountain top--stinging the eyes--perfect thin needles piercing and opening every pore. Wracking whole body breaths almost enough to break the nerves and burst the lungs. Lying flat like the drops spread thin in scented circles and then there's a calm. A centered, whole voice speaking in sense from above.
Triggers. Strings.
We come attached to distant parts of scattered worlds. With senses to search and hands to pull, legs to carry, and hearts to follow. The light bounces and bends and sends us out to see its shines.
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