When the light from the street
Until then the dark
Thinking it the music
Without your eyes, the stepping
Were it only touch, only taste
What was dance to your simply moving
If the incipience of purblind handholds
Around all, incidentals partaking
For instance, a tennis ball
Was it white blouse on white chair
Just visibility, chance, would
Fields burning somewhere
Your name harvested, for a keychain,
The now city face during work hours
Bundling the years as a revisioned
The calendared night, all stubble burnt
If the acreage starlit, they've asked.
TF, this is breath-taking in its visions, sublime in its wording and almost heartbreaking to its end. Your talent is beyond compare.
ReplyDeleteCher,
ReplyDeleteI'm blushing! Stop it!
Often, when I try for 'experiment' or 'innovation', I erase what I do and hide in a dark place.
This one, in its differing kind of gaps, jigsawed together.
How else to write about what it's trying to get at?