SOMETIMES ONE LEARNS
FROM NOTHING AT ALL
I get tired of shadows. The half-secreted
sheddings of personal domains and all
the places that come back to haunt. There
is a man inside me shouldering much; he
speaks if spoken too, but hasn't a lot to
say. It's a garbled feature he puts forth.
Along the water's edge, near some pond
made of frightful dread, a few animals just
sit around - as if awaiting the breath of a
new season, a later wind, something to pass
or enter into. All those certainties like the
detectives want, they're all missing here.
Mystery is the coating shroud.
We haven't many miles to go before the town
limits are gone : where nothing after that lives,
or - if it does live - lives without rules and
the premises that keep things in control. Yes, as
Baldwin put it, it's all another country indeed.