1)
Meaning, not
created, not sought, and not even found nevertheless trips you up from time to
time. Meaning repeats itself at the flick of a switch. Meaning consumes you,
not created, not sought, not lost and not even found; meaning nevertheless
eludes you.
Take heart.
Take mine, for instance. Take it in your hands. Keep your mouth at my ear.
Breathe for me for a moment, a simple invasion. A sort of half dance I do on
one leg. Should I share this with you? Dare I repeat this?
I do.
2)
Phantom
distractions. Do I haunt you like you haunt me? Either way, this absence has a
sweetness I cannot refuse. I put my body back where it belongs and wait for a
reply.
A collapse of
the peripheral if you will. The anticipation, the event, the arrival, and then
the dissection of every wrong word that takes all night.
3)
My stance is
incomplete, permeable. The light was different
in the past. But not so yellow, not so green. The light consumes you. You call
it "work" but we know this is a different definition than the one they
were meaning. That is, after all, why you used the word. The inaccuracies are
where the pleasure lies.
4)
There I go
looking at myself again. Looking toward that. I am none of the above. It is not
the reflection that is wobbly. It is not the light. Nevertheless, it wobbles. I
waver. I waive. There I go. Watching myself. Not pointing, but looking toward.
I don't know
why but I did run away. And did not take you with me. My stance is incomplete,
perpendicular. Everything shifts. The fire is picking up. I may have been
different in the past. I may have wobbled. I may have been consumed.
5)
The light is a
different light than the one we were meaning, the one we used.
6)
Faintly, it
sings.
7)
Half a moon. I
look up again. Almost full. Some time has elapsed. I have been looking.
I once envied
someone whose husband took care not to use too much water when washing a pan.
Now I envy someone who remembered to keep receipts. I have been looking
somewhere other than the sky.
