Air of Another Planet

 

 

 

A Note to Mars (A Sighting)
I grabbed a pair of scissors
 To cut a hole,
 in the closest piece of paper-
 A photograph of the woods.
Perforated edge
 To Make an aperture to see something
 See through something.
In all this I feel unable to perceive of anything
 But it feels wonderfully enormous,
 full, ever expanding and small.
All at once, all of a sudden.
I saw you in the woods one
 Dusk gray light away from night
 Standing on the edge
 Of a rock
 That looked like it had a hat box key,
 Small, jewelry sized,
 Carved into its top edge bending over the back.
When I rounded the rock
 The object disappeared into an
 Open, sediment-like formation,
 That could or would crumble
 Now or in a million years.
And then you were gone.
I read yesterday
 That in our consciousness,
 What we think together, what we make together,
 There are three scenarios of how this will end up
 They break down into the causes of
 The “world-for-us”,
 The “world-in-itself”
 and the “world-without-us”
When I think about it all I feel are edges-
 A complicated suffering with moments
 Of reprieve, pauses and pulls
 And heartbeats
 Paving a fragmentary
 Trail from this and that
 And from that to this.
You faintly came back
 For a moment to sit
 Aside moss,
 mulch, abandoned post.
So I stop talking.
And then you left again
 Flickering
 Staring in a glow
 All your incandescence now
 Cut in holes,
 Resting in the woods, rocks, and clay.