Stone piled on stone I finish my meal.
In this early sunrise I see shadows where a cairn of rocks
used to stack in the direction of eastern light.
It seems insane now, but
she’d be standing soaked
in schoolday morning light,
her loose-leaf notebook,
flickering at the bus stop,
and we almost trembled
cigarette packs’ worth
of what they call spare
change, wishing for things
they could already buy if they wanted
evident & yet the answer to yourtrillions
of moons that orbit swift disturbances.
that’s everything, I promise. It’s just *you’ll * never
have it, since the photon is not receptive or self-
that does not exist
until it’s discovered,
& yet when it appears,
it ceases to be? Because
It doesn’t matter who wins. It’s what can’t quite
end: what is not a thing at all, but a disturbance
how you2 are never in the same room & when “you”
are, it’s the only refuge & the other is intruding.
less, before the mirror that breaks itself
every billion years. Think carefully now,