Jorie Graham

I left the protectionof my plan & mythinking. I let my selfgo. Is this hope I

thought. Light fled.We have a worldto lose I thought.Summer fled. The

waters rose. How do I organisemyself now. How do Ifind sufficient

ignorance. How do I

not summariseanything. Is this mystery,this deceptively complexlack of design. No sum

towards which to strive. No general truth. None.How do I go...

extinct yet. Who ownsthe map. May Ilook. Where is myclaim. Is my history

verifiable. Have Iincluded the memoryof the animals. The animals’memories. Are they

still here. Are we

alone. Lookthe filamentsappear. Of memories. Whose? What wasland

like. Did it movethrough us. Something says nonstopare you hereare your ancestors

real do you have abody do you haveyr self inmind can you see yr

I am writing this in code because I cannot speak or saythe thing. The thing which should be, or I so wishcould beplumbed fathomed disinterred from this silence, this ever thickeningsilence through which, once, the long thin stalks & stems, firstweaker weeds then branching &stiffening, steadying &suddenly sturdier –strong enough to carry the seen – the seeming...

They ask me why. They ask me againwhy. Why the last of. Why the last ofa time. See, it curls up in the doorway & isthe doorway. Then wind and snow and time – your only time –curl up in it. Then the howling. It’s sayingsee, here, in this doorway, look respectfully, it is yr cage. Saying here isyr openingthat cannot befilled, these holes where yr earsshould be, where yr...

With whom am I speaking, are you one or many, what are u, are u, do I make my-self clear, is this which we called speech what u use, are u a living form such as theform I inhabit now letting it speak me. My window tonight casts light onto the snow,I cast from my eye a glance, a touchless touch, tossed out to capture this shine we

cast. I pull it in, into my memory store. I have lost track....