What if I were given eyes only
to feel
I am
a disappearance
of mind into
thought, into a
tossing foam of
thought
straining
to watch you, so exact
up there,
endlessly undertaking your
casting of
seeds into that which will never
grow into
more . . . Bright star,
you come closer
than I thought,
you don’t hang as I was
told, you are in a
mid-place
neither here nor
far—infinite spaces hum
beyond you
but you seem still here
on our side
even if you are not
for us or faced
towards us, here, so alone in
this storm of
history . . .
And there is no one star among you
to stand out—each of u
points to an
other—
strong or weak all do
whatever they do all
together—
& the fire that tossed
your white-hot embers
up is
banked in a
beyond we don’t even try
to imagine. You
are not apart
though scattered.
Once I see yr
netting I seek
a protection
you know
nothing of—
you know nothing
of this apartness,
you do not
jump forward to
be yourselves.
I am afraid, I say
as I look up.
The wind
fingers the tips
of the empty
limbs. They whisper & clack
with appearance—
jittery. There is
no appearance
u hiss in yr acid yr pitched
brilliance. That wld be
singleness. Nothing
is a part
of the whole
we are a part of.
