i see a darkness
and i know how little sense that makes.

no, wait a minute,
it makes complete and total sense.
outlines of trees
the sounds of animals projecting their forms into your mind
running water establishing landmarks
and even when it’s all completely dark, and still, and quiet, and hidden
the night is a rounded curtain, with the slightest sense of furrows, and ripples;
it is a covering, and not an absence.

well, i was going to speak about a darkness.
that is to say, i’ve seen a darkness
it was one border of pluto’s kingdom
the other one being silent screams and broken tables
and vegan casserole and “why won’t you sit next to me?”

but whenever i think about that darkness
and plant roots curled around ankles
and the start and the end of the pomegranate journey

all i can think about
is stretching my microphone
across a plastic curtain
so that everyone can hear
what painting sounds like

and latex staining tweed

and how much sense that made
and how much sense that makes