COUNTING ON A DEEP
AND CENTRAL WORLD
I have a hundred little feet, running through the
graveyard, coursing through the lanes. I have men
in motion, fleeing, looking nowhere back. I have ten
thousand south-sea merchants screaming for their
cut. I have nothing at all, and I have everything at
once. It becomes amazing, as I think on this,
that such a vocabulary exists to tell it.
-
Nearby, in a shuttered little cut-in, sits the
screech owl sleeping. He barely moves at
all, except to flutter in his sleep. Until his
time for waking is upon us both, I too will
sit and stare. Nothing else is smoother
than that, not even air.
-
I awoke from a slumber at fourteen, and
they marched me away - high, high up
to the mountaintops, to places I'd never
been. I looked for men in cascading robes,
reading. They turned around to speak to
me in a silence I'd never known. It was
like that a very long time; few letters home.
-
I am determined to let this Winter night pass.
The half moon and that star so near it, I think
I know them. In fact, in representing as such
the Heavens, I think I've been there before.
Long passage, dark world - deep and central
space, in a deep and central world.
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