Wednesday, July 20, 2011

eminence grise

she needed both
and on top of that—everything

and running through it all
like a thread—nothing

it was the thing of her
a part of the bones of her

some people called it by name
but she knew it to be wordless


if she took a razor blade
and maybe a thousand years

she could gently remove that gray thread
from the skeleton of her Self

underneath she wondered silently
if removing nothing was removing anything

but such surgeries done carefully
leave someone else on the other side

someone who uses words
and needs something

like leaves moving beyond the window
to believe that the wind is blowing

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