the nothing. I do not
lack ideas. I do not
fail to see
how pieces
fall together. I do
not fail to be
a human companion
to the human. I am
not skeptical. I
am seeking to enter the in-
conspicuous. Where the stems
of the willows
bend when I
step. There is dream in
them I think. There is
desire. From this height
above the ground I see
too much. I need
to get down, need to
get out of the reach
of the horizon. Are
these tracks from this
summer or how many years
ago. Are these
grasses come again now,
new. This is being
remembered. Even as it
erases itself it does not
erase the thing
it was. And gave you.
No one can tell the whole story.
