where are the bones of solitude

why is it a brightness to be
suchness
                    bright in the dark

why
why


who lives here with me,  seeing fatal light,
who stands, who turns?

hold hard to what cannot be grasped...is
the mind, are the bones, is this skin
here, now

the self?

the eye cannot see itself
so
why the breath of a flower
why this street

am I the street or
just wind, or or or or or

a flower, nodding alone
and nothing more

Reviews

[kmartell]

confused? me too

[Ed Hart]

well, now i'm all confused

[...]

. you are a genius ... that's what you are ...
. and you write stunning poetry ...

[Emily B]

your poetry is so much about light these days . . . I wonder