origin 10 notes in origin index ellie epp

the night horizon




grass, nettle, the color of gas-lantern light


no, it's the grass brick stone with the black clear

behind it. it's the black of no thing


the top of the tree in shadow and moving more. lit wall.

webs. breath steams. a line of web was shining between

me and the lamp. moth doing something on the raspberry

leaf, wings blurred


spider went up between two stars in the dipper's handle


lying on my back under the stars, roof corner and edge,

and then the distance


dans le detail


outer space. suddenly i had seen it. i felt myself in face

of it. it was because i was on my back but as if upright

looking out. i mean i was on the galactic plane, the

stars were on my horizon. i felt i could step out and walk

toward them. they were there, places. the extent of

space between me and them was there. i saw how far i could



it was a moment of shrinking back and at the same time

holding still, like holding a frame while what's's in the

frame ... quails. i saw it is always daylight out there.

and that night is the window on it, a curtain removed


what i was marveling at was just the understanding that

the axis of space is turned at night, vertical and horizontal

are reversed. being held onto earth by the back or feet


then i remembered the speed of light, which is to say that

looking so far is looking upstream, as if the sight line to

any star is a time axis. then being in shells of times,

being able to see to and through many times at once


i've never succeeded in telling anyone, yet, what it was

i saw. but months later i came on something'd read in

vaughan and thought a metaphor. i saw eternity the other

night, like a great ring. of pure and endless light