Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Here, Somehow

Existence is impossible.
What to make of that?
Absence is the rule.
The thing you used to bat

around when you were young
you used to call a ball
turns out to be illusory:
no ball exists at all.

The skin you touch, the kiss
you render to a lover
all amount to something
like the shadow of a cover

of the notion of a puff:
neither evidence of breath
(for nothing ever is or was)
nor harbinger of death:

no palpability of any kind.
Yet – less exploded star
than a hypothesis –
here, somehow, you are.


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