I hide behind the simple things
(not the easy) so you’ll find me;
If you don’t find me, you’ll find the things.
You’ll touch what my hand has touched,
our hand prints will merge…
the august moon glitters
in the kitchen
like a tin-plated pot
(it does this because of what I’m saying to you)
it lights up the empty house
and the house’s kneeling silence,
always the silence remains kneeling.
Every Word is a doorway
to a meeting–one oft cancelled–
and that’s when a word is true:
when it insists on the meeting.