This Air

I have been living in wordlessness, drained of thought, exhausted for ideas. So that when I turn toward the facts of my mind, I am blinded by physics. I am required to know in an instant and sense things perfectly: images, distances. I cannot survive long in this air without assuming I belong, and so I write, like everyone else, and if no one taps me on the shoulder or if no two people require me to move, I will remain exactly where I am, head down. Not in an attitude of prayer, but of resistance.