What You Thought
Here I am in the woods
and there is snow
I crouch by a thicket
I am low
There is an opening
branches and snow
lines on white
You can go but you must stay low
You are on a cliff
with a pier below
a sky a sea a planet turning
Things make crosses
then come apart
everything breathes
and stops breathing
I sit in a doorway
I am low
There is always a doorway
Nowhere to go
Nothing to guard keep in or out
to silence shout overthrow
What you thought was a place
is really a thing
a moon made of ice
a sun on a spring
beautiful circus
trembling
This article appears in May 2007.
