The fountain was a signpost III

He no longer perceives, senses … intuits, he figures – the anatomy of the world as such, stripped of content, texture, meat and fibre.

A humbling gesture, akin to witnessing from a distance the crashing waves of shifting tectonic plates, Mythological paradigms grinding,

And the ridges froth a granular golden ocean, like a blanket of sand, or the alchemist’s vortical cloak, which, laden with the burden of perspective, from above twines cellular particles into an interstellar network of white noise.