Frisson of thunder and breath in a blue vase: these named me. Innocence breathed around me, but I was too much spark. I flew from the vase, pushed through the narrow neck of it into a cosmos bursting with color. This was my first true thought: the idea of Agora, the expanse of mind.
I carried nothing beyond the name given by thunder and breath. Lady Socrates opened her house. I sat on her narrow balcony near the sundial, drank wine, and felt my kinship to the thunder.
Oh, child of thunder and trapped breath! My mistake was believing I could be shed of one and not the other. The first vessel that came along and offered tinted glass? In I flew. Who made this offering? Me, to myself. I developed tricks to avoid the chill smoothness of my prison, but once, looking across the sunset edge of the last open field, I understood that a wall of glass a foot thick separated me from the world. I slipped, again and again, trying to climb out on moonbeams.