Vacating the premises | Shapely for nothing, the crucible waits, the sides polished, for a spark of | earth or perfume | Swept clean | no fragments | of violets or salt | to sully our wish | not to prejudice the experiment | The heartbeat and the mouth | similarly prepared | It won’t matter if the guest should be | a passing plane or an avalanche | The moments and the eyes | readied in the same way | Welcome | the drops of sweat | welcome the first | flakes of snow | And so for the witnesses | so, equally, for the evidence, and more | Such a gaze | as has no | gaze within it | Requiring no | new abode | Many pine needles, with their dabs of dazzle | after early morning rain | Marked “Return to sender” | Along the defile | of an old glance | lay what was seen | but beyond it | lay the unseen, and the unthought, and the unknown | The instant passes | Making the new | vessel appropriate | for its task | The discarded one | is rinsed clean | of remnants of cherries | grit | pixels | newspaper reports | And off to the left, like tiny anchors | cut | coffee beans | skitter across | a wooden floor | and bison | lower their heads | into the blizzard | having no name | to order the storm

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)

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