Sunday, October 19, 2008

50. CLASPING WHAT WENT BY US

CLASPING WHAT WENT BY US
I may have meant to come by silent things beforehand -
things such as this, which went away. Confusing is it?
Only because you, looking for meanings, became so
intent on shape and content that you forgot what
went before : that moment in the sky, our hands
in the levelled water, waiting for fish, or frogs.
Anything like that at all.
We may have meant to come by silent things beforehand -
but, like Pinocchio without a nose, the most obvious things
were gone already - the leaves dropping like soiled
paper from trees, the precious sound of the songbird,
running off, and - lastly and most decisively - that
rustle of the cool, crisp wind as it passed between
our twice-pressed palms.

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