Listen. We are crowds now. We gather in the eardrum of.

The scaffolding grows.

As if the solution.

There is not a soft part of us.

Except for the days in us.

We let the pieces fall where they may.

The visible in its shell gets smashed.

The desperation re

the gorgeous raw material—earth—the sensation of

last night, storms spilled, plumed, odor of

looking for the various directions.

I have seen

nothing. It is deafening. It shakes with laughter

with ways of looking. It rattles. Listen. How much is it now

the thing I want?

The soft wind is it recompense?

But I was trying to tell you about us now.

How we finally realized we made no difference.

And the visible we love. Its notes its intervals.

Over which the sunlight still proceeds shivering with precision.

With the obligation of precision.

The visible whose carapace we love.

And how our love is that we are seen.

All the way into

the mind are seen.

The earth with its fingers in our mouth nose ears.

The visible with its ghosts its smooth utmosts.

And weight and limit—how they heave

up—pray for us we are destroyers—

pray we fail—the mind must fail—

but still for now a while longer let me

who am part of it & must fail & the pieces

which must not fall where they may,

they must not, as all is hearing this

from the deep future, deep origin . . . Cry.

Cry mind sick with the delight of getting it always only right.

Cry fingering the earth every crevice.

Cry all the trees like a problem you

can solve.

How could you not have maintained steady state.

It is lean this unfolding of

your days over this earth. Listen, a flap

where a gate shuts, where the next step is

coldly placed without hope—& crackles

rising where your footfall goes—oh

I am huge—I would

take back names give up the

weight of being give up place

delete there delete possess, go,

love, notice, shape, drift, to be in minutes once again, in just one hour

again. Look

my small hand comes out of my pocket

asking to touch one more time. Without

taking. To touch. To not take away

any sensation any memory. To come to

the feeling-about at the edge of the object

and stay. Release focus. Release shape.

If we

back off release blind ourselves thumb away hope . . .

But I am huge.