The simplest way
to say things
is to see things:

The sun
in the back of my head,
no timetables
for backgammon,
women of liquid starlight.

That sun was rising
I fell.
I fell from the center
of the carousel;
hospitals were hiding time,
the world was only horizon.

I want to see things
but there is nowhere to look

xxxfor nothing to see.

I ponder beneath reach
in every direction
toward the sun
that don’t say,
the sky that don’t see.

I see steam
colors rise from teacups
perusing altitudes
of human experience,
the decay of the sun
and bones that burn.

Flames rise from white
flower petals scribbling
upon purple night.

Orange fire rides on poles
that get turned on
by telephone polls.
I bury dewdrops
on flower petals
and tongues,
unmediated photon of no origin,
unsounded sign
of infinity and nothing.

Strings dance
upon an orchestra buried
beneath the stage
of no orchestra,
I scream
and there is no sound to see
is the simple way
to say things.

Unhinged door
to the cave where
I do not live,
secret to the sun
drawing the plains
and the precipice,
stone, the ocean
and the end.
xxxand many
xxxother things.

Sight of sound,
taste light, think
with moons, touch blue
fire, dance on
tombstones, know the origin
and nothing.

I do not speak for myself.
I split seconds
on flower petals,
seek solace next
to nothing,
and say thing
as I see thing.

The window is open:

As long as you exist
there is always something
to see.
xxxEven if you have no eyes.
So when I think back
to the origin, to what
exists before time,
the simplest way to say things
is that we see things.

and then we don’t.

(2.14.09)