86. a rock upon a stone

 

 

the sand through | our fingers

the sand among | our toes

whatever boulder | they came from

whatever reaches | they traversed

the pebble in | the shoe

every other step | upon it

as if the world | doesn’t budge

as if the person | cannot move

a stone is the | hollow of a fist

as we | how we | squeeze the air

out of it | and back into the sky

we can feel the rock | only when

we hold the | wind in our hands

the trick of the boulder | is to

keep it from moving | finding

a way to hold | it in its place

because it has but | one space

on the planet | but one location

to inhabit | to be in and of

 

the air in layers | of gas

argon | neon | oxygen

each of them separate

the whole | they fill

around us | and we swim

as if we do not realize | we

are surrounded | at every

moment | unable to escape

from our | small habitation

cannot even see | what

holds us | in place as if

we exist in a space | of

minutes or hours | not

the solid world of | gases

and beings ambulatory

and sometimes | sleeping

away their entire | lives

under suspicion | reality

does not exist | yet still

persists | among us

 

we are liquid | simply

held in place by | bags

of skin | stretching and

sagging | doing what

they mindlessly | do to

keep some kind of | order

to the body | which

believes it is | either solid

air | or gaseous solid

unable to escape | from

the binary thought that

anything not | is not and

anything here | is real

not conceptualizing how

we live in | the margins

the betweennesses | not

in wholes | but in ever-

reverberating fragments

bound to fail | once we

burn | all of our fuel