something other than clouds

here’s a shadow I am standing inside.   measured in shades of real.   yes.

which of us is the larger?   not me.   I am not the outline you think I am.

do we matter much?   well, not me.   I count only for what you don’t see.

mother, she left around this drawing of calendars.

pencil in hand.   ink only when I’m more sure.

they are clouds laying on the ground.   these white feet messengers.

read before they dissipate.   or be a fish that got off the hook.

     there see, it’s the other way around.
first and last.   I’m wondering what those mean.
     even if the meaning is simply – one.

     last might think itself first again.

although not meaning, standing alone.

toes, you see how they bend like they do.
     the better to grip.

     the better to come close to you.

although really, I’m more shy than that.   teeth being
one measure of hungry honesty.
remember, clouds are empty inside.   tectonic.
not meaning, fault.

meaning, possible.


catching rocks

tripping over my own feet.   just like thought.
like a novel sometimes.   but only when I look.


the word far is common now.
inside outside, is one of the illusions kept.
playing recursively.   time remembering time.

feeling I suppose, is my default.   like how some
might look sidewise, seeing me.

kindness.   written some might bigger now.
gardening.   on hands and knees.
that remains the gate.   grace, letting go.
as I am.
is there more?   another chance, is that the question?

yes.   no.

yes.   both.