I realize now that over these months I’ve become an omelet. Between self and screen, the lack now too great. Or, is it that I can now clearly see I and you in the mirror – boxed in and clearly defined? In any case, this amoeba has pulled back its pseudopodia. Still an I but viscous, floating.
Now in the clouds, I test my projection on the mountains, on the valleys of suspended crystals, and the wisps above.
Do they look back?