A day slow pales into a past day;
dust crawls into the high hall windows.
The scene and I snap; the silence
makes a picture of us. Eyes unborn
eye the outside of things and the light
brown-yellow-grey and straight
brings, excitedly riding its energy,
a past - tricks and fiddles and contingencies,
which lego other pasts, and
this past most of all.
1 comment:
the beauty of the thing
that sees
the thread of the retina
set against the opulant
colors of an oil slick
the inside of the eye turned
out
light reflecting light
moved to silence by sight
i am moved to speach by
the thing that sees
words like a lense
i too bend to this
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