Ciclo LIV

The light this morning came through the window at such an angle that the dust became visible — each mote a small sun of its own, drifting, unhurried, as though it had nowhere to be. I watched one particle for some time, and in its wandering I saw the whole of the air made legible. così, the invisible made plain by patience. My hand still shakes, but the eye, for a moment, was still.