It is not turning the corner
and biting the wind off at the root
nor letting it lead you
to a forest in full fledge
throwing yourself on it
as if that would absorb
its green fire
It is more like adjusting
to the spaces between the wind
or the cool gap between wind and leaf
In that buffer-zone that
no-man’s-land which
is not loose but not captive
events occur
bringing autonomy closer to experience
and here are shaped
those thoughts and acts which carry
one furthest from the self out
of that clinging region into
the top forest where light casts glow
and underlights the back of leaves
making lanterns that flow
if not free then
not quite in the foliage not quite
dumb in the trunk
Through these lanterns through
these gaps whistle
pure bundles of wind
close as a clove calling you out
calling you in
calling you over a calm sea
where swallow-tailed butterflies
cross to the islands through the jaws
of swimming lizards
and in the growing
in the change and dying
no hand is forgotten no wing lost
for in this land of close quarters
where each has a universe for cell
here is the freedom everyone laments
here is the tapestry woven so close
from a distance it has all the natural
gaps of real scenery
all the lacunae
of a manuscript that makes room for the mind
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