peripheral--
like the body beyond the nervous system
the flesh and bones and circulating blood
that are not you, but surround the shock
you are, give your lightning form--
is where you linger. sidelong
to my vision
a lost country
broke enough to be exploited
by the sleepwalk kings
in slow procession down the
intersecting aisles that run
adjacent to / conjunct with
the unsteady window of my eye.
i see you (not see you)
there (not there)
in the light that does not shine
upon the hundred faces
you have never had.
i keep writing you poems
because i can't write you poems.
if i could, i would stop
as one does
when there's nothing left to say.
i suppose you can feel flattered
that these words exist at all.
maybe my great failing
has been to keep you always there--
peripheral--
a rock i refused to shake from my shoe
a sliver untugged from my hand
the itch i could scratch but didn't
on the phantom limb i don't have
and maybe my great flaw
has been a wholeness
false and solid
a sense that i contain all i need
a quilt of cherished gaps
a map
(just off the edge of every map)
to lead me back
to where i've never been
to find you there
with all your other selves
peripheral
and perfect.
don't move.
not one of you.
don't change a thing.
