The poet Charles Simic has a line: “the dictionary said you were a sign indicative of omission” which I’ve always liked. I say this because I’m blind and the recipient of other’s declarative omissions—I disappear as soon as I’m seen, and why not? If I can’t see things then of course there’s nothing for others to see. The blind body is a husk.
When I sit under the wild apple tree we are two husks getting to know one another. I tell the tree that’s how it is. I tell the tree the Corybants will be here soon. I share a story with my favorite tree about the shadows of men who wander forever. You see of course because you’re a swift reader that I take back the omission indicative.
So I take back the entire night. Take back the chances sleeping in cards. Take labors never finished and press them under fallen leaves with my toes. Take back cloud pedestals and the labor of moving forward. Right here. On the far side of the lake. In a small reddish square.