You for Me

Ben is telling
us we
should know
better than what
I'm admitting to be
a part of every
thought-flash. Smash
to the back of my eyes.
The never
ending cinema of being
this haphazard
and herky-jerky box of visions.

I take my hands
from your eyes,
and you are healed
of what?
Your blindness?
Mine?
Dark?

Where are we to be?

You for me
are more than a total I can
echo or imagine.

Thus
I continue
this continuous
thin black line that seems
to make every form
formless--I cup my hands
and let what's left receive
giving, the ghost, the host
of my being
lost--
nowhere is enough.

You,
I can't
escape.

I sit with my back bent,
leaning into you though
every bit of every
thing.


by jerry gordon