Kit Kelen #900 - in a wilderness corner

900

in a wilderness corner

keeps like a question

where no self is said

where the moon was set

where fell some sleeping star

winter is

no hand by it

all muted for a first sun webbed

and paws under

was once a world

now an edge

let's

not

go

there

*

pink of

like a rising or set

it's never everyone sleeping

here are the ones you haven't met

some settled, lie in wait

and you could prime yourself

alight

set to

about

it all works up to a silence

never lasts for long

*

some little wings

come out of it

you listen for the gods are in

far as I am

all accidents too

every other planet's like that

how otherwise?

but breathless bare

there isn't a picture I can show

best thing about the place is

I'm

not

there

*

in a wilderness corner

hear trickle towards

the claws that catch

no moral to

gods are listening in

they flew

that's where we won't know

no tune

though we imagine past

even in my own last acre

that's an age before

some star fell sleeping over us

when I am ash

I am not

*

the cenotaph lives

you won't find yourself

it's here the unknown

about their business

sacred this far

now then to light

turn to stone

torn apart

it's all you can do to imagine

*

and some fell sleeping here

ill starred

but that's the way

no graph chart could predict

you won't know the creatures there

isn't a market at all

some fell star slept through

all exploding

does nothing here but burn

*

in a wilderness corner

won't find me

creep sun

secret to itself unworded

where did this go that?

like a draft

for instance moss much

instance rain

I have one of these in mind

and out of it at times

in the body also

likewise there's between

this unshorn idea

wrestle for it

tickle too

we won for ourselves

for our flag

a wilderness of wishes

none of this requires belief

or presence, absence, definition

but just because you're picturing

*

we won't be understood

amorphous stream, inchoate

are you with me?

let's not be seen

in conversation

such a place

and taken the wrong way

rain's let

and no machine shouts

in a poem could be prose

often I've come close to it

best thing about it all though is

we're

never

there

*

and they will be as smoke through the trees

the neighbours -- feats of engineering

breath yet

that we know of

steam rises from

vanish at that point your closest

(plus ultra white pirate

whore me a world)

look up

and if you look away

you can see more clearly

this is my business here

still roaring of the not-got-away truck

and here's the pipe and tail

all followed in a train

of mists and lovely in tress vestige

gossamer cling

diaphanous to be

and someone is singing

someone is dancing

it isn't me

and it isn't you

it isn't us

in there