I am whosoever comes, however you pronounce absence. I am still listening
with absences only you can pronounce. You are Tuesday’s location.
Master of wherever the earth returns in fire.
Still wondering why all this is real. Why hearing all the burdens that answer with any other name for night is where we be.
innocuous word for world who shelters every first expression of light.
This poem is everything, the effect of a mysterious process against
but more precisely into my body, stop at my awareness that you don’t just blow out fire
What if it’s something only aware of what’s left of light.
Witnesses are always arriving,
always moving around, always at the beginning
Like there are such larger beginnings, beings, bodies of utterance that fit perfectly
on your tongue. This is the limit of what I know about []]. It’s all I know about the difference between my name and my father’s name, names for poets, children of a further race.
I ask, have you ever witnessed a [] dreaming on the stairs revising herself until you were her
When leaving // // you
will notice what forms isn’t water // but /// volumes of listening
to a child/
Sometimes I speak in winter.
It is // // easy to //never recognize// your reflection, hide from all the // // merciless glory.