I am this fog
paddling around this
steel grey beggining
already curled round
given way to limned
trunks, ice floes
I am what I see
becoming my way to
you, a broken plow
gesticulating over
the frozen corn
tree reaching for a star
sisters come without
names, being the measure
the book of everything
between my house
and yours
that says matter
is the stuff of motion
space rhythmed
by contents, it drives
a breath
between trees
stonefence to stonefence
I am occasionally Ashtree
on occasion you
as if the night itself
were just flapping in the wind.
Following effect or day
or warm or green.
Follow your eye until you arrive.
Who are you? You is
disarming you with questions.
You is taking your ticket stub
and convincing you
that you is enough
wherever you are among
the fish-people of Borneo
subsisting solely on mist
their existence is question enough
to disarm you.
You is a word settling in your ear
a friendly fin taking you by the hand.
(cont.?)
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