The substance was the doing, the process of moving out
into the day.
Transposing the objects and dilemmas with an action
That led you beyond meaning, siren call of distraction
To the roots here in the quiet under the tree of life.
The reality of plumbing pulls me back into the rooms I left.
It clunks away. I have not been inspired nor turned
Inward enough to you, who is always standing
There in the back of my mind.
I am not going to put the trees in though they stand
Attentive as dawn in the famous calligrapher’s picture.
This part of the arena is being closed.
I am left here with only words.
They flare briefly on the bare floor and go out.
The scenery is rolled on to the next plateau.
The parts, (buildings, animals, destructions, lusts,
Are going to be still and become a homogeneous us.
My dreams I will to that other you I have chosen
Hoping to tame a contrariness which is the other side
of the coin of submission.
Now the lights are on, have been for awhile
And, in this feeling at twilight
The forest and trees become one.