Apparently to See Them is the Point

They come to let me see them –

apparently to see them is the point.

They don’t know why I try to write

a commentary on their presence:

their presence is, I think, to them, enough.

Because they don’t care if I understand,

they get to haul their whole and subtle grand

complexity into the light: whatever stuff I may

have catalyzed to bring to sight –

whatever ambiguity – whatever odd velleity –

whatever taunts me with a need to know –

whatever that is, they would just as soon

have blow out of the window.

And so their floating permutations go –

emitting now and then a squeak or coo.

And so whatever sense of Soul I’d like

to think is lumbering below continues

its veiled peek-a-boo.





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