We have instincts. We know, somehow, what it is to live. Where to turn. Where to look.
Look upwards. We know that it’s from there it will come. From on high. From the most fucking high.
We know what to look towards. We know what to seek in the sky. We know the clouds will part one day.
Have mercy on us: isn’t that what we say, over and again? Have mercy. Help us. Lift us up.
We need something to face. We need something to See. Something to refresh the eyes.
Work in Progress 