Situation

to talk about nothing, now, is to talk about everything.
as much as you analyze it’s still not going to rain.
so stand to the side and think of Becket –
there’s nothing to write or say
but it’s essential that we write this.

no one breathes because she feels like it.
if words were meant to breathe
then let this poem move towards itself
and be the green sun over the solitary tree.
it may be that poetry is oxygen,

a rising through a necessary air
only to sink into the everyday.
think of Mondrian and his silences –
so complete, so still, so revealing.
just like him, soloist of color,

you should say whatever you will.
may the day and its urgency forgive you.
may the climax of this moment forgive you.
let go of the present and its loneliness
and move towards the here and now that needs you.

(From Intemperie, 1995)

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