anywhere i can find to put words

look out into it, i said, look out over it, i said, look deep down, look high up: and below us the shock of green earth, and above us the overcast sky. the wind is sweet, the wind carries water, carries the memory of sun, carries the scent of clay and slate; the wind carries my answer. what is my answer? i say it as though i haven't considered my questions, haven't learned i only have one when i thought i only have one in certain corners of the room. i only have a question when there are no gestating answers and: i lean into it i collapse into it i fall over myself like i'm one with somewhere to fall, i remember just enough to i remember just enough to valley every hill i remember just enough to back up the white cliffs, the eyes and talons at the tear in the heavens. the ground opening up, the open ground open with absolutes, with killing absolutes, there isn't an absolute visible for miles around the ground zero of my life, but then again i think that's how it's supposed to be. you know what it's like when you've been staring for decades at the answer you've pleaded for for years. you know what it's like, realizing your greatest mystery is another person's daily housekeeping. you know what it's like when we stand tall, stand out, stand up for years: or we do not, we simply assume we do, and the wind blows with sweet humidity, the wind blows with all that is spring, and all that is spring and spring unfolds, every blade, every bud, every green blade and every splitting bud and spring unfold every year every year again, splitting the buds and greening the blades.



walking through the dropping cliff shore, wandering through that slight sweet spring humidity, sometimes it's enough to simply know and sometimes it isn't. look out over it. look down into it. look out: there's something we need to know about. look. look, there's something we need to see. what are we seeing? there's a matter in the heavens, a matter high above, a matter at the break in the heavens, something about to come to term. there's a matter crowning now over the heavens and if we step back, if we left it to work itself through, if we close our eyes and let it drop. if there wasn't any matter but the matter before us, if there wasn't anything left but those matters we've abandoned ourselves to, if there isn't anything and there isn't anything and there isn't anything again, we'll fall out over ourselves with it we'll gather up the spilled efforts and uncanny circumstances. we'll make it something other than it is and then again and then really what we've made it has something to do with what it is and we can't say for certain if that is accurate, literally, or if that's a dark mirroring, if that's definition by omission, if that's i don't know but here it is again, and again, and then the heavens in alignment the heavens hold it all in place. the heavens holding in the silence, not a flash of lightening, not a rumble of thunder. everything holds for a moment, everything gives offering to stillness: even chaos, even rage. if you miss the silence before the beginning you'll still be listening for the silence after the end. and listen, there will be an answer. and listen, your answer is waiting for you. everything is out there: every answer and every mystery, every known and monotonous, every new and dangerous, every pink and plastic, every white and brittle, every crumbling brown. we are lists, we are categories. that everything in one's personal universe fits under one vague genera sign. but, then again