Colour field theory

Lying on the roof above the patio seems somewhat illicit, up above the sanctioned patio strata. From here I could hop along roofs all the way north to Bloor St. But at this moment, expanding the world is far from what I need.

Lie down eyes closed, feel the tar, tiles, gravel as they offer up the day’s accumulated heat. Opening my eyes and cupping a parenthetical hand to each side of my face creates a zone of exclusion that destroys the city, leaving only a massive solid and shining blue sky all around and above.

Staring upwards becomes gazing down into an infinite pond, a passive, lifeless sea. It is a singular, eternal moment brought to the present by the silent passage of a commuter plane. Passing across this zone of exclusion, from one hand to the other, I feel like I am watching a fish that, having stumbled into this dead sea, is breaking some cardinal rule, is as unaware of the universe as I am.

* * *

The afternoon is dwindling and clouds have returned to punctuate the sky. Above me, grown out of an isolated contrail, a stitch has formed and has taken on the task of holding the sky together.

I do my best to help, willing it to keep all that it surveys intact but all it can possibly keep intact is the person looking back at it.