the I is what it does, the sum, or
some complex rhythm, but we’re
unheld, so no matter, except
for the I, that’s enough.
*
I thought I felt the seed take. I
agreed to shuffle, to let
winds or calmer hands arrange.
I think the seed took, but then
I forgot. And look here. Suddenly
numbers to search and rue. The numbers
nod to time and proof. Each hurt
handed over, put away.
*
we’re standing, not touching. we’re
talking sideways, we’ve never met, but
we love the idea of the you, so I love
you and we’re looking at the picture,
or the neighborhood or the ice in the dams
and we look fresh point to point,
consulting, making a picture ours. we
make a show, look from this point to that, while
we hold a little candle at the corner, our
silent agenda, our joy. we’re not touching.
