Below we´re standing, in the prompter’s box. 
Where the person sits who whispers to you
when you have forgotten your lines.
 Because you have forgotten that you are standing on a stage. 

The center is empty.
In the darkness, hands reach into the air. I want to grasp them, but can only fill them.  The hands form a hollow space. 
The spheres: a beginning, the compressed voice, the dream of pluralism. 

The impossible unity, the ever-new birth out of emptiness.
 The contour of the hands — they fit together so well.  But like a symbol, they are empty.

What would be visible if everything were at the same distance.

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A blooming forest, unto itself.

If everything is equally distant, there is nothing to measure.

B drags his feet across the floor with a slowlyness I cannot reach. And I don’t understand where his thoughts are lingering.
His hand cold in mine, bones heavy, wrapped in flesh, pulling downward.

The sounds too slow or too fast. This speed is wrong. 
An echo — something that had long been there, in the emptiness, but like a star already gone.

The lingering of a bird, a crossing of two different speeds. 
Your song, an attempt to control speed, to have a rhythm. 
Plants are accessible because I can slow myself down; they cannot hurry for me.
Language, text — an enforced speed. 
Can you determine the duration without the frequency of the expressing body?

Everyone has left the room; only the drumming rumbles dully in the background. No rhythm I want to follow, no form to lean against.
Here there is only the silence my sounds leave in the space. Footsteps that create silence. 
The way you´re standing there in the sun, I can see you clearly, every pore of your skin breathing. We are bodies in space, standing in the way of others, occupying space, working the silence.

[Voice] in the space the bird passes through, and me as well.  Like a weather vane I turn and watch it go, suspended in airless space.

Would you? Could you? Would you  tell this story , with language, with shadows?
You can only narrate me,  and without our lips  forming them,
they go on by themselves.

Weep, cry. 
Smile, smile.
 Would you? Would you want to? Could you?

It’s strange, everything that could be a body.  Emptiness works like an airbag — twelve breaths of spent air so the impact doesn’t injure you. The other body I long for. The other air.

Throw one of the spheres for the dog; he runs. Maybe he lets it roll to your feet.  Maybe you know that the air is heavy.

From where you are standing, roll the sphere to the point of a comfortable distance.  Follow it and look back to where you were standing.
The space there is empty now, but marked. The coordinates resist regular intervals; the imperfect sphere does not measure. You choose, and your choice becomes the measure.

What object fits between two hands? What can your hands carry? What last slipped from your hands because it was too heavy?  The body — resistance — measures, compares.  You can ask these questions anywhere.

Would you? Could you? Would you want to?
The gaze outward, at a safe distance.
Then someone has brought their furniture to your place, has settled in. And your object is a house, your vacancy a situation.  You begin to move the bed, because next to that wall there is no sleeping. 
Up on the terrace, moss begins to spread in the cracks while footsteps draw invisible paths. They echo into the basement; the bodies inscribe themselves, for you. And we fold the floor plan.
Summer has begun early and spills through unreliable doors.  Footsteps above your head and you are ready to whisper the line that is forgotten upstairs. Because for a moment one has forgotten that there is a stage.

Here.
 Cue: Weep, cry. 
Smile, smile.

The average color, as if you had not asked.  Would you. Could you. Would you want to?  As if you had no standpoint from which the camera focuses.  A light-sensitive surface records light. The image is flat, everything equally distant from the person who looks. When the scale varies, the balls roll themselves round.  With words on them — language is slow.

If you can hear nothing, down in the basement, because you cannot hear or the voice is inaudible. 
Step a little to the side, to where the marking is. 

And do you see?

Gruß, Ma., 2014