September 22, 2014

The intimate particular
She and the moon and this tree
Cast so by the face of the breathless lamp
Alone in my definition of a place.

The things of this world–
How could they be my own?
And were you not of this world,
Though stepping into my sight and

Having touched my flesh

They were forms that lingered,
Permitting their beholder to learn
What was learned otherwise in song:
In Time, to be held by a place

Articulating the formless which,
I do not understand.
I am enraptured with moments
A veil torn without a noise

How merciful, distance.


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