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(Painting, Vanitas by Harmen Steenwijk)

I saw a man coming who was green and soft like moss--earthy, earthen, smelling of earth, trampled; inverse of light, chthonic. Downward force taken form. The downness of below taken form. He said "this is a trial, all this, this is itself your judgment. And there are enough signs for you."

"I suffer," I told him.

He did not look at me, being eyeless, heavy, heavy, weight incarnate. He pointed to himself. "You begin without noticing. There are enough signs."

I reached forward. The void of his frame was as soft--moss--as it had appeared, soft and thick with gravity and heavy, painful.

"Let me notice," I told him.