We are standing at the side of the crinkled yellow  soleil , whose  surface  is slowly fragmenting into  aigu  angles. The  blanc   cone  is staring offscreen at the back of the other sun's  tête . Cicada shells crack in the  sombre  all around, waiting for  perdu   corps  to return to them so that they may retreat,  arrière  through time, to their egg-shaped beginning.     Jamais plus je ne serais aussi proche de l'oeil de Dieu.