Thursday, March 2, 2023


I guess this is progress—
finally, I've begun 
to wonder 

what I'm supposed to do 
with your pictures.

After all 
these years, your face 
still looks the same to me, 

whereas I'd swear 
up and down, I'm so 
very much older 

even than I appear 
in the mirror 
at this moment—

old enough, at any 
rate, at least 
to understand 

how the pieces of us 
which might still interact 
are far 

from the proper or 
obvious suspects. 
It's a bit like 

how the instrument 
which is responsible 
for singing 

is itself, in practice, 
mysteriously silent—

and the similar 
mechanism by which 
the song's witness 

is compelled to linger 
there and listen, 

while equally 
primitive, is completely 
invisible—or at least 

remains very
ingeniously hidden.