(after Robin Blaser)
A new sun for every day
come light the candles.
Tell me my real height.
I’m already on the table, see
breath calling in shadow
any measure of me is death.
Look at me there,
and already it’s written on you
the secrets of all you’ve seen
whispered through the dusk
returns, the way things do
shoes under her haunches
getting mud on your stupid sofa.
The image falls open
as if it belonged there
here, what we mean by me.
What you wanted to touch
that’s come so far to be you.
So this is Euridice;
wide-justice,
misremembering
on the right road.
Every stone is my mother
my father was a wheel-barrow.
maybe that’s the way
to the bottom of things
but there is none: we’re among
betoch, the difference that
surrounds us, are also within:
See and be
that’s all the alphabet you need.
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