In the swimming pool I see my city with my arms out, head to the side…
Friend, you can’t confound me with your architectures.
When I’m under water Proteus swims just behind…
All our lives we had to imagine what was before us:
Borges once saw in Buenos Aries cuneiform doors; houses of onyx with slim windows…
This city is festive as a prayer drum; clean as a votive dish.
Lap 10 I see retractile fingers of light.
I kid you not: cities are opaque as illuminated pages.
& some days there are no true cities on dry land.
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 