Brocken Inaglory, "Reflection in a soap bubble," 2007
I voice these words here with the same breath that fogs the mirror, the breath that fills soap bubbles. How long might these bubbles fly? Far longer than I will. I’ve seen that stream of bubbles blown by me, when I was a child, soar past my sight; they must have carried my breath in their iridescent bellies across oceans, coming to rest in the frost of the Arctic, breaking upon touching rime. I breathe these words through a loop that shapes them no less than the wand we dipped in soapy water when we were children— wand & loop, embouchure disembodied into thought, into memories. It’s a small circle through which my breath passes, here; I read aloud what I write, making sure it sings. But that loop’s enough to hold the liquid that wraps these words, spoken or unvoiced, and send them on.