< ( * )( * ) >

I walk around to the side of the building. It is painted white with bricks showing through like red scabs. How fragile even buildings are, I think. Or, is the building shedding an unnecessary exterior to reveal its fiery insides, turning red again, building muscle? Steam pumps out of it. Is someone inside getting warmer? How much heat is needed to maintain homeostasis, or to raise one’s sitting temperature more permanently?

I see another metal sculpture, a small school of fish swimming up a blue pole. How curious they aren’t swimming toward water, but toward the sky where they’ll starve and suffocate, where the one thing that wholly defines them, water, is completely absent. Not marine anymore, these fish want to be as angels, ephemeral. And the sky doesn’t receive them kindly: it’s moody and gray, unforgiving. Or will it open suddenly revealing an ambrosiac light?