We watch angels sneak away to snort particles of light. We see their faces brighten into pure volcanoes. We see their wings move like hummingbird whisks as they furtively resume their mandated orbits. For angels can only shirk circumnavigation of the divine for the briefest snap. Poor devils. We see all this because our brains birthed twins: the eyes.
When do we go blind? When the will of oxygen is engorged with a transcendent whim. When oxygen, like the angels, shirks the predictable. When the flow of oxygen forsakes other organs. When oxygen ceases to hug hemoglobin. When it strikes off on its own on a long sojourn through the sienna graveyards of the mind. A new way to fall. To collapse like a star. The impetus? The fertile restlessness of being a being, you feel it, don’t you?