4061. FOR ALL THAT I SEE

FOR ALL THAT I SEE

For all that I see I see nothing at all. The

only shivering person I know has already

gone  -  she was once mine, now no longer,

though I remember her face and I've kept her

scarf. She'll only notice, perhaps, later.

-

Let's walk in lockstep  -  two doors down,

past the entryway, into the court, and sit. I

can hear things before they even sound. I can

sense the things you'll say. This is good. Like

the gunfire in the courtyard at the Dakota,

when John Lennon went down, everything is

by sound transfigured. Changed. Altered.

-

This is so mysterious, this flexing, fluid life.

We come, we go, and in a moment so many

things can change  -  like an endless blind where

the ducks are picked off, one by one by one.

Crazed and stupid hunters, staring blindly

into space, intent on one thing only : that

they will never leave a trace. (For all

that I see, I see nothing at all.)