Thoughts arise within,
from the centre.
They sprout and grow out,
towards the periphery,
towards distant heavenly bodies,
towards the Ideas,
towards the Signs.
What fecundity, like plant life,
forking and striving away from the centre,
away from the Earth.
The radiating centre
becomes hollowed,
the inside becomes the outside.
Yet we are born under the stars.
Below the constellations,
beneath the Signs,
inside the womb,
we are compressed and inscribed.
You. I. You.
