Back to Virtual Studio
Back to Iris McCloughan
My Morning is Your Night
in this configuration, I soften
you begin falling
what felt immoveable has taken time
in, turned malleable
your room is plain
panels, blankness abides
and is broken open
my ceiling is not mine
but it’s becoming familiar
I reach to my own image
searching for a doorway
your face waits behind mine
coy, making me insist
on my invitation
you stand at the threshold
flickering, moth-like
I lay your viewpoint down
show gravity where to touch me
I reach across a line of infinite extension
while you stare parallel
to the plane of this moment
I stretch word to word
tremble at the loom
you are receding now
the moment narrows
from somewhere
between us
an unexpected music