from Stele

 

from a distance seems                                       to be walking
and so becomes a man                                   and so the man

in his silence                              therefore these hills and hills
in their ceaseless every surface           of the eye in its folding

and disappears an evening                             of folded hands
as if the folded hands                                 of the statue had

too many fingers                               making them look oddly
feathered and so                                             so much less

contained or able                                          to be contained

 

 

 

have some among the rest                                             have
some that came back torn                                          a scent

across the grass                                       picking distance out
of a long list                                                  having a long list

of things                                      that the body can never be

disappear                                                         in a blink of air
and you watch there                                            the tiny fold

 

 

 

if walking presumes a crossing                                was often
what could have been                             awakening, woke up

a leaf in or of a mourning                     which is always a form

of counting                                                              softening
the walking                                         into something by hand

 

 

 

star walk                                 across the night star
field the night, a given                             give the point

the farthest, the superstitious                                            that
the second star seen                                               must align

that a dime found on the street           is the dead who speak

to you who said the coming back                            who said
across a field is crushed            far hush of the night sought

soft end of the dark thought                 but then, who has not
turned                                            and in that very act, act





the man in the middle                                           gets smaller
yet increases in detail                                        and no farther

stumbles through accident which                    in detail opens
small windows that live              in larger windows that thrive

 

the field is green as is the hill                    with its infinitesimal
steps it carved them                              from a great distance

nor anybody else                          seen in such certain detail
they stand out                         in the light and you count them

making them larger                                  the ring on a finger
splinters the light                     and that which enters the eye

makes it older                                       and deepen the green
and suffer the capture                           as the field gets wider

the man seems                                 to float slightly backward

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