eyes closed, the temperature has just dropped...in a bright white room, with rain-stained skylights above and the sound of water weeping placidly around a granite cube. a stairway to tibetan heaven, saints like stalagmite lollipops are illuminated by yellow lamps. colder still, there are only three colors: the kind of green that kills cancer, ancient gray, and mahogany brown. the throngs are silent, echoes are heard from the greek hallways and the chime of the elevator, always going up. strolling through a refridgerated chapel, wondering how many eyes have rested on these sleeping figures, embellished with somber garnets pressed into paper leaves.
sacred women dancing [in public], revered, mothers in meditation, a silent smile and eyes gazing inward. supplanted from holier origins, unable to take root on their sturdy pedestals, they sleep--unaware of external change.
and then, a serendipitous discovery of a massive fort on the roof. thick bamboo shooting straight up, with wild leaves still drying at the tips. knots of rope, (blue, yellow, red, green) secured at the corners, suspending bridges, steps
and fluid corridors.
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