Outside the World

Sitting outside
the world I've built of glass,
the scores pour forth,
clicking their magic numbers
at the heavens where
the mirrors float.
We don't need
to look far for reflection;
here the water stands
still enough to know
a ripple from a rebirth.

The thing I
miss is knowing where
the outside stops extending
through into the inner. Where
space is placed in limits. There
I had to dare escape.
But here, with nothing
to say to nothing there
is no question arrising
from no what?


by jerry gordon