response

Drawing flesh
out from between my eyes and yours
the Owl hangs still
in the air, unblinking.

We are corpses together,
hung from the fishing line of electricity
to bob and dangle like living things.

But only elementary particles can truly be called animating.
Everything else disappears
with enough time
entropy is so alluring
that long tunnels have been built by scientists in Sweden
to attempt disintegrating that which the light
of oblivion is never supposed to touch.

Yet there is something ineluctable about ourselves.
It's the fate of bodies.
If being has Become, it has been.
Its fact is infinite


and Being becomes contact eventually. the whole world
is swelling out. Wind
wrapping around a rock polishes it smooth,
and air drives in currents like the sea.
Everything does, and is
brought weightlessly to everything else.

The weight of your flesh could rest
in the palm of my hand like lead.

And then we would be meeting,
electricity confusing the lines that once suspended us,
the day's catch,
still as plumbobs depicting gravity.