The day runs out in rivulets towards the endless dark seas of a world turning. We are so used to movement, to our perpetual motion, that I wonder what a jolt it would be if the world stopped. If all became static, and the leaves tumbled, drowning, into the darkness, or crumbled, scorched arthritic by an immortal sun. I wonder if the halt would jar us all forward, each stumbling into another place, falling towards a hard thin horizon. Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine myself moving through space, though my limbs are quiet in the burgeoning twilight. I imagine the curve of light as it wraps loving golden, coyly dancing with its gravity lover. I imagine standing on the apex of it all and watching time accelerate before and after this one still point that releases me, dissolving into motion.

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