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Vindauga
Sometimes I dream that I’m floating
on a raft with holes like eyes
across a lake like a blown pupil
Other times I make a skylight
of hands stretching like branches
to the nomadic moon
I want to know if I have died,
if, once again, I belong to worlds
like secrets that slip through night
The rat snake curled in the attic, its forked
tongue asking so many questions
The green tomato on the windowsill
breathing into the pane
The wasp’s nest made of eyes hanging
in the corner of the garage
The hidden birds haunting the leafy edges of things
This morning you and I saw a beetle
lying on its back, its little legs wiggling—
all that melody, that to and fro
Last night, ears and eyes bundled,
Caught, once again, in the long waiting,
We failed to notice the stars’
Absence speaking of the long
day of silence, that strange field
in our minds
So funny this bright, loud world
Colors like banging on an empty box—
So much we’re able to see
So much we fail to unlock |
