of astonishment
flood the gap between
"I" and "am."
Matter
and its anti-;
positivity
and its pre-
requisite opposite,
which must, as a rule,
repel one another—yet
here we all
sit anyway,
casual as Friday,
comfy as ever.
*
Still bearing the stigmata
of such deliberate precision,
keen pithy snatches
of some meditation mantra
play around the collective
nouns that we've
come to call our faces,
making them gorgeous
as fractal images:
matrices
of galaxies, say;
or heaventree heads
of Roman-
esco broccoli?
*
We go forth
and name things
to know
where we stand.
We shake things up
and leave the house
for the sake
of getting back.
this is not
profundity—this is
just its traces.
