143. Order as the Concentration of Pattern over an Array
here and
hear the belllike voices of sunlight
in a settled fog reaching deep then deeper
into this October morning
a fog like milk and the voices
of sunlight like lowing cows
and the still-green grass wet
in the morning and cool
so that you could lie down
within in and sleep yourself
into a dream or the resurrection
of cheese from collected cream
the sweet rich cream covering
your hands and maybe the sun
will eat through the fog by then
arrays of grassblades
under your feet and cutting
the soles of your feet
slowly cutting them apart
with the swish of a blade
against your feet and what
you don’t feel
is the cutting of the grass
the slicing of the blades of grass
these leaves of grass
multiple leaves cutting
gently across the soles
of your feet
athwart water
and ice and the transformation
of both into either
and a long way from summer
which has just passed away
with reddening leaves even
if the sky is not allowing
the sun’s setting
and the version of the word
“slake”
used when you hold
a piece of ice against your forehead
on a warm day
chard
but not burned
not even by the frost
delicate at first
tracings of tiny crystals
almost as dust
across the leaves
and causing them to
shrink allowing their
deep green leaves a
slight dullness but
the dark red stalks
are deep red veins running
through it all
considering
the specifications of the day
that the sun appear that
the sky go dark that
the rain come long and wet
into the evening that
three wet dogs return
to the house that
there are no stars I see
nor moon that
the grass cuts nothing
for I wear shoes
over it that I cannot
imagine where
the specifications end
) this parenthetical life
all imaginings built upon
the manifestations of
reality in a sequence upon
a single person working
the words to make something
out of it in the form of
a letter or a poem or a
recreation of a life imagined
between the word for
something remarkable that
we never consider so and
the word for whatever
holds your attention
for a tiny part of the day (
hear the belllike voices of sunlight
in a settled fog reaching deep then deeper
into this October morning
a fog like milk and the voices
of sunlight like lowing cows
and the still-green grass wet
in the morning and cool
so that you could lie down
within in and sleep yourself
into a dream or the resurrection
of cheese from collected cream
the sweet rich cream covering
your hands and maybe the sun
will eat through the fog by then
arrays of grassblades
under your feet and cutting
the soles of your feet
slowly cutting them apart
with the swish of a blade
against your feet and what
you don’t feel
is the cutting of the grass
the slicing of the blades of grass
these leaves of grass
multiple leaves cutting
gently across the soles
of your feet
athwart water
and ice and the transformation
of both into either
and a long way from summer
which has just passed away
with reddening leaves even
if the sky is not allowing
the sun’s setting
and the version of the word
“slake”
used when you hold
a piece of ice against your forehead
on a warm day
chard
but not burned
not even by the frost
delicate at first
tracings of tiny crystals
almost as dust
across the leaves
and causing them to
shrink allowing their
deep green leaves a
slight dullness but
the dark red stalks
are deep red veins running
through it all
considering
the specifications of the day
that the sun appear that
the sky go dark that
the rain come long and wet
into the evening that
three wet dogs return
to the house that
there are no stars I see
nor moon that
the grass cuts nothing
for I wear shoes
over it that I cannot
imagine where
the specifications end
) this parenthetical life
all imaginings built upon
the manifestations of
reality in a sequence upon
a single person working
the words to make something
out of it in the form of
a letter or a poem or a
recreation of a life imagined
between the word for
something remarkable that
we never consider so and
the word for whatever
holds your attention
for a tiny part of the day (
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