Portrait

.
From what appears to be
the pocket of your vagina,
you pull out a chair--
from nowhere--and take a seat.

All of us over here
on this side of the train
work our eyes back and forth
beneath our boldly knitted brows
as though we've finally understood
the words that have always been
written halfway up the sky.

Our first urge is to want
to share this shining confusion.

But how can witnesses converse
in the words of the world they left?

When two small children meet
their first act is to reach
through all the sky that falls
between them.
They grab hold
with nothing in their eyes.

Lost
over here on this side of the train,
I pull out this blank
sheet of paper from my pocket
and draw this:
a tree growing
from a howling table-saw.



by jerry gordon
5.8.05