Sunday, January 17, 2016

to soon for reading upward up the page, have you
lost sight of what books are, no but books have changed,
I can feel my mind's eye flattening and lightening
and I view words on it (darkening) they say: no, save
what they say—my face faces this while, looking light
brightened by it, blue, the light looks wet on skin
when soft, looks cold on bony nose, the screen has no
singing then sings, no drumming then it drains
no symphony then it makes a solitary sky like bows
of one rain or like the way my eye meant windows
to mean but didn't, plastic we taped up to save heat
also saves transparency, I see the plastic stick and I see
draft through the glass as billow, la, I'd like to live alone
and have no one to talk to, la, I'd like you to live here
available that I could watch you, if I weren't here
I'd look on freely and you would be fine, I see me seem
sightless and realize that while I speak I'm reading


  1. sophie or a! sunday felt like a holy day because you appeared & reading this is glorious

  2. So much to unpack here. Wonderful poem.