Letter to Morning

Day, what happens when you leave yourself entirely?
Is it sleep?

Becoming and unbecoming:
hour, shape, sound.

Is your opposite still a reflection?
Beginning, orientation of shadow, alarm.

From the beginning I removed myself
so there was nothing
of me to record.

Only now
am I placing something in: a hand
for instance

another not going to stop it.

Day, how much of being is responsibility?

When they leave themselves
they enhance a boundary
or separation by trying to ignore it.

This whole bench is apart
from the ground.

I know because I saw it tipped over
and on our walk, V left
to sit it back up.

Alone, I can’t tell if the speck on the grass is
a beetle or hole.

I don’t bend down
because I like the possibility of both.

See Day, I do the same.

Still, I’m annoyed
at people forgetting whos, whats
as a way of simplifying or making good.

I address a letter to you
because it’s a form
for the far away.

Day, here are several examples of collapsing
negative space.

I wake and remember my dream.

I swim far enough into ocean
that shore looks like water’s imagination.

Line of grass worn down to dirt.

Pupil full of the tunnel of another.

I press my cheek to water that looks like the hundreds of windows on skyscrapers.
I think about if they wanted the building to be invisible.
Is hiding another disruption? Dead body of a bird.

Walk to the edge and realize the funny firmament is chalk.
Clap the dust from your hands.

Wear a bright orange coat.

Tie a knot, tie another, and another until you alter the fact of string.

Rewatch the movie as soon as it ends.

Checkered patterns: fries, games of intellect, Kansas, picnic, backsplash, home.

Day, I’m uncomfortable and joyed by this being.

The way I angle my head depends if I can see
the sun and solidness of other objects.

All the empty chairs on grass
show me previous arrangements of friends
and one person alone.

Other people arrive.

Someone staring is a form of interest.
Don’t be ashamed. Be pissed, sure. But not ashamed.

What is a stranger? She over there, just walking,
shifted my state of mind.

I count the number of times distraction
leads to new thought.

Math I used to believe,
jokingly, was useless.

On graph paper: limits and indefinable holes.

Infinity, sure but mouth and hands.
Capitals touch everyone’s name.

Pass the calculator. Let me see
the transformation of things joining
other things.

Of course, it’s not random.
Even a long pattern is one.

If I lie in a certain position,
I hear my own heart beat.

I think about what it means
to choose poetry over other things.

It’s easy to live inside.

I have a conversation with J
about what happens to poetry

when you turn it into a building, a tree,
what the voice does, if there’s harm in a song.

Day, red lights and
absurdity goes on

the train has bigger windows
and seats than I expected

it felt like I was watching a movie
of separateness falling apart

like the boy and truck blurred into sky.

It’s funny I went in and out
of that wholeness.

Sometimes I was a camera
frustrated by glare
other times single blue.

Day, language surpasses me.

It’s alive.

There on the floor:

threshold, water, leak,

future, born out of you

is ground.