I am wrong.

 
"In science it often happens that scientists say, "You know that's a really good argument; my position is mistaken," and then they would actually change their minds and you never hear that old view from them again. They really do it. It doesn't happen as often as it should, because scientists are human and change is sometimes painful. But it happens every day. I cannot recall the last time something like that happened in politics or religion."

Carl Sagan (1934-1996), in his keynote address at CSICOP conference (1987).

 

Light paper

Paper drop (passage) VII

Wolfgang Tillmans

Floating

 
It could be the
surface from below,
perhaps
clouds from above,
perhaps

Suspended,
up and down,
floating, floating.
Weightless, unpulled.

It could be the
air, water, light
– so precisely anything –
floating, floating.

Ground. Seabed.
Stratosphere.

Salt on the lips
– ah, yes, the ocean,
that vague memory.
Aren’t clouds made of
saltwater or dustwater,
dunes or oceanfloors
– floating – floating.

A gowpen of cottonwool,
a thoughtful of smoke,
all could be inside my mind
– subfaces and surfaces –
mirror of mirrors of mirrors
slowly spinning on myself
dimensions lost to the senses
I am nothing, floating, floating

if only the moon, a bird, a fish
I’d know where I
floating, floating
was – stars perhaps
I’d know – floating
why I enjoy
floating, floating
so much

 

In-between two storms

 

Un/clear divide

in Sólheimasandur⁩

nothing either white or black

but shades of blue abound

After the storm

 

Hunter's Moon

 

Statuegynous

Exhibition Viviane Sassen PHOSPHOR,

Maison Européenne de la Photographie, Paris (France)

(Click to expand)

in the subway

sleepy, serpentine subway

slithering in the pulsing deep

late train, perhaps the last one

carriages swinging lizardly

like elastic metronomes

one after the other, following suit

when they finally align

a violent explosion flares

at the far end of the train

the ball of fire quickly

engulfs everything

tongues lapping posters off

teeth ripping seats apart

claws slashing clothes

everyone wreathed in fire

muted cries of terror

sheer, primal panic in their eyes

the blaze shockwaves through

incinderate the bodies

yet I remain curious and calm

watching the fast-moving inferno

my last picture of this world

is that of a train exploding

relieved it’s the end of the line

a bit surprised I have to say

but welcoming quietude

ready, my time here done

feeling it in my old bones

like the storm before the storm

the heart beating freely, firmly

in the flash, bang and whimper

of the blast of the furnace

all turns to a film negative

dark-rimmed, pearly glass world

suspended

for a long time

— and then

resumes 

clearly —

as if

nothing 

will ever have

happened

when the illusion dissipates

unsurprised and poised

I remain curious, still 

equanimous, smiling

either are there

waiting

 

would you

If you miss someone you loved

and you still see them, somehow

faint, fraying silhouette in the fog

and you look for their ghost

on a park bench, on the sofa

in the café you used to go to

there as if in remanence

– what if you did

what if you saw them

what would you do

would you go to them

and ask

how do you do

do you miss me

even just a bit

can I sit with you

would you

and everywhere you find their face and traits,

trace their mannerisms, and smell

in everyone in the metro and on the bus

in every footstep you hear them

and every time your heart

misses a beat

you hope and dread

that it’s really them

– what if it were

what would you do

would you run after the metro

tap the person’s shoulder

turn them around

cup their face into your palms

and kiss them tenderly

would you

and you still think of them

watching a video, reading an article

baking a rhubarb crumble

for the world made more sense

and food tasted better with them

and conversation with strangers

and sex with strangers

feel dull and deepen the emptiness

– what if they suddenly called

would you pick up and tell them

the world disappeared comfortably

with them around you

with them in you

would you ask them what they think

because their voice

filled the void like no other

soothed the tinnitus

would you chat with them

until dawn like you used to

would you

and you imagine them

in someone’s arm, having sex

kissing, cuddling, embracing

and it wrenches your guts

and you still extend your arm in bed

in the silent dark of nights

your fingers expecting to touch their body

– what if you did, what would you do

would you hug them so hard

you couldn’t breathe

would you say you’re sorry

tell them you’re happy

now you’re in their arms again

would you

would you