Imagine-in front of us-they silently pass. And they believe unrelated

objects are machines

for recognizing the human. And, again, we are no longer interruptions.

 

Imagine-in front of us-the beginning is not a study. And they believe

the cicada's larva

reveals narrow secrets. And we accompany: to form, to shape.

 

Imagine-in front of us-a beautiful garden. And they believe color is the

shoreline's end

where we abandon our too sudden bodies. And, here, we are carriers of different

significance.

 

Imagine-in front of us-each word devolves a lexicon. And they believe

shape shuts on a hinge

within the voice they fable. And, here, we slaughter the spring lambs.

 

Imagine-in front of us-they pass us between nature, between history.

And they believe the door

frame alters the curtains flow. And we are a dark summer moving against oceans.

 

Imagine starlings circling in a postcard's blue. And they believe oration is the living

thing, the end

of geometric space. And here, in full sunlight, we are gifts hoisted to the vanishing

point.