Testing Gardening (audio only)
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No one
is here
right now.
for Joan Paul, d. April 1978
No grief goes unrelieved;
some days, half meaning to,
I turn my undefended back
on the grey & snarling scene
of my dissociating pack
and hope.
The place of language is the place between me and the world of presences I have lost —complex country, not flat. Its elements free- float, coherent for luck to come across; its lines curve as in a mental orrery implicit with stars in active orbit, only their slowness or swiftness lost to sense. The will dissolves here.