Between you and me, of myriad conduits, the others. We set out. Toward. Send messages made of signs and symbols, ripples, waves – our gestures. We move. Where we are. It resonates. When you touch down and look in my direction, molecules dither, there is some concord. Generation. Gravitation. I do not believe in “flow,” or that everything is One. You set out, we are in relation. Things pull, things press. Hearing dribbles in the brain and puddles. Echoes something else. I am here. I will be. I set out. Between the myriad conduits and air, water, fire. We breathe. We become a ground. We register.
N Filbert 2013