Ecco

and I thought
how I meant to live a quiet life
how I meant to live a life of mildness and meditation
tapping the careful words against each other

Here in my head, language
keeps making its tiny noises.

And have you made inquiry yet as to what the poetry of this world is about?

I am capable of pondering the most detailed knowledge, and the most fastened-up, impenetrable mystery, at the same time.

Language is, in other words, not necessary, but voluntary

Language is, in other words, not necessary, but voluntary.

Little by little
the ocean
empties its pockets—

listen,
passion did it,
called me forth,
addled me,
stripped me clean
then covered me with the cloth of happiness—

You don’t ever know where
a sentence will take you, depending
on its roll and fold. I was walking
over the dunes when I saw
the red fox asleep under the green
branches of the pine.

Here is the white and silky trumpet of nothing.
Here is the beautiful Nothing, body of happy,
meaningless fire, wildfire, shaking the heart.