On the Last Day

I left the protection
of my plan & my
thinking. I let my self
go. Is this hope I

thought. Light fled.
We have a world
to lose I thought.
Summer fled. The

waters rose. How 
do I organise
myself now. How do I
find sufficient

ignorance. How do I

not summarise
anything. Is this mystery,
this deceptively complex
lack of design. No sum

towards which to strive. No 
general truth. None.
How do I go without
accuracy. How do I

go without industry.
No north or
south. What shall I
disrupt. How find

the narrowness. The
rare ineffable
narrowness. Far below
numbers. Through and behind

alphabets and their hiving, swarming – here, 
these letters. I 
lean forward
looking for the anecdote

which leads me closer to

the nothing. I do not

lack ideas. I do not
fail to see
how pieces
fall together. I do

not fail to be
a human companion
to the human. I am
not sceptical. I

am seeking to enter the in-
conspicuous. Where the stems
of the willows 
bend when I

step. There is dream in
them I think. There is
desire. From this height
above the ground I see

too much. I need
to get down, need to
get out of the reach
of the horizon. Are

these tracks from this
summer or how many years
ago. Are these 
grasses come again now,

new. This is being
remembered. Even as it
erases itself it does not
erase the thing

it was. And gave you.

No one can tell the whole story.