Who sees open windows with closed eyes? The ice stretches deep below our home, down to aquifers filled by ancient storms. My silhouette opens lost worlds; yours shines forth ours; below, our ice grows ever downward. Daily we live in perfect parallel, ever equal, never reaching, never kissing. Our conscious sky radiates but its honest self, in calm, tornado green. Our eyes cannot close— not to our world—not to lost worlds— without feeling a crack of growing ice. Scientists say we sleep better in the cold. Perhaps, sleeping in frozen air, we do reach.
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You can see the late Annie Blake's painting accompanying this interview with her: https://thekrakens.com/2016/10/annie-k-blake-heres-how-i-see-it
It's this one: https://www.thekrakens.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/anniekblakewelivecloseby.jpg
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( And in case The Krakens ever goes down: https://web.archive.org/web/20220121171023/https://thekrakens.com/2016/10/annie-k-blake-heres-how-i-see-it )