existence, part vii (we try to inhabit this world)

inside of this sentence is an idea
around its perimeter i push the sand
do you see it?


man is like this, too


what idea do we contain?
who sees us?

to sweet impossible blossom

From Blossoms by Li-Young Lee

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we brought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy, to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

one small window in wabash

as soon as the window of light is opened
it doesn't matter, exactly, where the body is

but instead
where the heart, the mind and the soul go~

so sings the common man

the multitude is cacophonous

however, each solitary

 individual

isolated

unique creature,

is important

existence, part vi (woman)

and so he named her, woman

she was quaking in her nightdress in the side yard,
naming things in whispers like tree and sparrow and breeze.
her nightdress blew against her body and suggested she had a form
but her trembling suggested it was no one thing.
what was she up to by naming the world?
it was a game she played, only she didn't really understand it.
what she wanted (and this was a secret even to herself)
was for someone to tell her she was here.
it was she who wanted a name.