What experiences

With Janice Sandeen


.

Curtains

drawn

before open

windows     beyond dawn:

consider our selves finely woven

iotas in the waft of unfixed and foregone

designs; we’re the lines among tesseract foldings. Each of us is a wall—

one sticky, critical wall—built to function within honeycombing complexities, convexities of inside-outside decision forks—spun, spanning, spinning and spawned—

“…experience awaits and awaits,  yet also passing us by, pondering us like the creatures we are. Experience having us, we are possessed by that which dawns on us, possessed in measure, great and small.”

Experience hears us wearing it, wears us as we hear it—here—where a line drawn is drawn like an inhalation;

and we might feel impelled like bees or undersea fan-handed barnacles,

how the atmosphere/ocean/emptiness—intimate in infinity—

visions, revises, calls and recalls

you and me,

hanging upon

any

sea.