You never know how in the dark you are
Until the dark is in your eyes and in your bones
Until the only home you own’s the home you had
Until the good things that you love are bad.
You never know how far the dark is in
Till where you are is where you’ve always been
And where you’ve been is what you’ve never known
All the standard flaws and giving up.
You never really know how deep the cup
How tight the wire, how fit the glove
A gauge is just a thing for hanging on
Your measure when it’s here you’re gone.
You never really know how far you’ll go
Until there is a line that you won’t toe
Where you find the demon’s not your friend
You’ll never be the self you were again.
You could see where it was shifting
if you looked down, they didn’t want
to look down they said
they said here now
jumping around to demonstrate
to stop all saying.
Shortly after one could have said but didn’t
told you so
such cold satisfaction when all that
dangling and lurching
was going on
and so much more digging and sorting
was left to be done.
we had reached the summit
We moved all together
in a ragged line since
all landscape was precipice
We’d lost all words
for subtle or minute variation
that is to say
there was only undulation
and time and
even less to say only
commenting and captioning and
we got there rather fast.
Marmoset cubicle errata.
combustion and speculation.
But it didn’t matter
that you recognized
soon everyone looked like a friend,
subsequent falling in love.
What a relief
the dismantling of former lives
the only disarray the
increasingly distant past.
Which is just to say
we went toward
whatever drew us and
anywhere we were
Return tells the past
Only as seers tell the future,
Makes the placeless place,
Confabulates causes and
Consequence, makes a ghostly
Home. How much owning it
Owns you, how little
You can ever know.
One day I may not know you, my friend, may not know who you are, not as already I don’t know people I have loved who have made themselves strangers or whom I have made strangers, but as if you truly were a stranger–maybe you’re standing on the platform and I am on some train rushing past, following that wind that comes before the train, or you are someone I take a shine to in a grocery store, or you’re someone in a crowd crossing the street and I feel a pang of almost recognition but I think oh it’s just my mind.
One day I may not know you, but I may see you and have that feeling of standing in the middle of a room and wondering why I came there. Right now it feels as if I am already only almost remembering you. If you pass down this road too, we may meet one day and neither of us will remember who we are–you think you will know but I won’t, I think I will know but you won’t, we’ll each wonder what happened to the other’s memory.
Sometimes in a cascade of not remembering little things, I think maybe there’s something larger, something more significant that I really need to remember, something that Continue reading