In a Rorschachian manner, I see a crow’s face, its bleeding head wound and a sapling. I couldn’t connect the ache I felt with these images at first, so I’m giving time to my subconscious.

How do you know, when you think blue — when you say blue — that you are talking about the same blue as anyone else? You cannot get a grip on blue. Blue is the sky, the sea, a god’s eye, a devil’s tail, a birth, a strangulation, a virgin’s cloak, a monkey’s ass. It’s a butterfly, a bird, a spicy joke, the saddest song, the brightest day.