mine own

Say: to call a word by its indefinite,
interpretations, oscillating and infinite,
which are its eyes and hands;
the eyes and hands of the word.

So now, yellow's every
coward, and each cadmium.
Canary and chrysanthemum.
Each word's its shadows' overlap.

"I" is me, and simple.
"You": you, and everything not mine.
In the discrete definitions of its being,
"we" transcends ourselves, and redefines.

complainte

i cried on sight. i'm going through a rough patch.

***

Light the first light of evening
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:

Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.

Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one...
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.