Just as horizons fulfill the noble duty of supporting, caring, and tending to the shape of our bodies during our worldly activities, something happens to the body which, due to fatigue or illness, finds itself joining the horizon in her horizontality, and, as if by magic, when the fatigue and stillness are too great, becoming the very horizon herself. 

Fatigued bodies,
Paralyzed bodies,
Comatose bodies,
Revoltingly still bodies

becoming horizons.

And as horizons, we no longer see them. We see: 

Fatigue,
Paralysis,
Coma,
Revolting stillness.

And if by chance we are able to catch up to these horizons which, unlike others, are too tired / unable / unwilling to recede from us, if we are not careful, we run the risk of stepping over them, mistaking them for the crust of the earth we are so used to standing on. 

And if we are extremely careful, and we stop ourselves just in time to notice the body-bed-crust-horizon extending in front of us, we would do well to ask our shadow to do the same, and drape itself on a horizontal plane which is not a horizon, to avoid any risk of asphyxiation. 

One of the great difficulties of living as a horizon is the intense loneliness of being without a shadow. 

Another one
is the lack of horizons in the sky, which is all one sees, when one is a horizon, staring up
at the blue
Atmosphere 
which is no longer a Sky (without the horizon of earth)
but the greatest, most expensive Turrell installation.

As a horizon, I become –

And what used to be 
the anticipation 
of the 
closing 
of the
gap 
between our parallel bodies 
is now but orthogonal discourse,
speaking in tongues
we don’t see I to eye.

A toppling of the vertical plane of representation unto
Myself
turned S(h)elves

now strata; then fossil
now crust; then crumble
now bed; then embed 
into memory -
foam mattresses where I used to lay
exhausted, thinking about (becoming) horizon.s