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| Photo by Kyla |
The way very small things
accumulate: dust, cat whiskers,
scraps of dried leaf,
tiny shards of glass
from that time last fall
when you startled me coming in
and I dropped the light globe
on the concrete basement floor.
The way these find me,
adhere and pierce.
Also, certain quietnesses
such as those in between the notes
of holiday jingles
and commercials. The silence between
your words. The larger, long silence
of absent friends
and the dead.
Various fluids, and containers
of fluids
such as this body
which still holds me
with the exacting skill
required of unnoticed craft,
the only perfection
we are allowed
here.
The expansion of breath,
the way it goes out and on
following mysterious laws
until they become
moot
Where is that? you ask.
As if I knew.
I could say we'll go there
one day
but even that
is beyond the edge
of what we're given,
we meek,
in our inheritance so far.
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| Photo by Kyla |
