“At night the stars wheel ever westward. Mostly they’re just texture. But sometimes he stares so hard and attains such crisp focus that he seems them as the places and bodies they are. They lie there in sheets, before and beyond each other, interleaved in their bronze, gold, silver, pink, blue facets, in mosaic overlaps like the scales of a fish. At moments the like these the sky has an awful depth of field, an inwardness that makes him afraid that he’s falling out into it, about to be inhaled like a dust mote.” Dirt Music