it's the awakening that counts...

trying hard

making the doing

some random act of kindness

it’s the awakening that counts…

blood escaping

covering my shoes,

making certain

random holes are stopped-up clean

(why, when there is no air left to breath,

do I seldom hear from those survivors

who spend their time drowning?)

it’s the broom closet that counts…

rumored to hide away its captives

once set free into the world of

decaying dusty

back here on earth

when I read about the persecution trials,

my eyes squint toward

those dank abject rooms

where the guilty must hide:

classrooms, courtrooms, bus station restrooms, candystores,

deserted green retreats,

Zion,

Hades

(where the laundromat closed 10 minutes ago)

yes, it’s the distance that blows my mind,

the utter vastness perceived

crouching behind the shade glasses I wear

to neutralize the confusing,

the necessary patterns of contrast

(you see, we may agree it’s all black and white,

but how do you explain “blindness”?)

answer: “blindness” cannot be found in dictionaries, for

it is a state without context,

hinting at the sensation experienced

after sitting still too long a period of time,

when movement becomes abstract,

categorically impossible to unravel

6/68

Paterson