From inside the glass, visible breath rises against the pane. A hand unseen carves the moist fog into words, like ghostly messages from the other...

From inside the glass, visible breath rises against the pane. A hand unseen carves the moist fog into words, like ghostly messages from the other side: points to consider, mappings gesturing towards escape, a puncture to mull over or anchor the body back down to Earth. Phosphene is a cyclical underworld journey, where light is both pressure and maze. The poetic voice meanders in the inbetween, a porous vessel, negotiating what it means to survive, be perceived, and the conundrum of escape between these densities of alienation.