Milky musing, down the side of the plinth, the view elongated, fore-shortening, fore-longing, no one on earth or mars has this view now of the foreshortened bronze public sculpture in the blinding sun, all milky vision and sensitive. Try to explain to the person walking by, you know its like when you close one eye and look, keeping head still and then swap eyes so everything shifts. your vision has two different perspectives, the person walking by is another universe. One eye is objective, the other subjective, in the milky light, no point crying, because the tears can never be sure, subject or object. Now looking up again fighting the sun from prone position alongside plinth, the bulge of Bronze something. Reminds me of a thing, the thought’s gone, and it was never shared with anyone, does that matter, how would it be shared? It cant, physical world, musical means, no direct transfer and the milky vision is just mine. So stand up and read the plaque, the words bite the corners of eyes, that sharp N, really gashing as it rushes past cornea. Back prone, on floor, mouth forming large bubble, perfect bubble, in which language would this mean ‘Pass the salt”? None. Suffering the public sculpture with hand outstretched leaning on its warm surface heated by the sun and gaining access again to the vertical world again. Never mind, walk past the other people thinking of the shape of the things, and if it were inverse, the sculpture in the park would be the space, the nothing, the air. Breath only in areas where their are objects, suffocate without.