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Yellow light streams over the brown-green rim of the hill,
edges roughened with forest.
I stand at the sink, storm windows swung open
Over the ribbed, white edge of frost
light coming down over the hilltop, skidding across frozen air
Morning, 1962
Hang it, dimmer and more suggested than sure
Dust explodes in every direction,
the descending, geometric corners
consumed as walls disintegrate
How to portray walking in a darkness so complete
my feet touching earth must be taken for granted?
Fear, my only lasting fear, of things in the night,
lurking
And how did fear become my first option
in the magic of invisible darkness?
Magic that you could walk the world unseen
and imagine without interference
other things we never see
and, in doing, see them
So, how do we get this in our collage?
Look at Rauschenberg. He got in everything.
Lay this bike against that lawn chair
Make marks of love on anonymous platforms
Throw it all together. What you get
must be whole. Life accepts no partials
