Figure and Ground

Refigure yourself, hurrying down the corridor,

past the shadowy objects. Too late
to name anything now. It’s all spoken for.

The chair in the hallway speaks for itself. 

"You are not alone," it says. "The purpose of things
is not the meaning of things." This is a recording.

Into the garden then, where what lies lost is overgrown:
the other chair, wild with the language of soil,
the message is the matter. A fistful, a bowlful.

The birds are thoughts that the trees are having,
each one a variation on a theme. Hurry on,
through the garden and out of the gate.

This is where the fields are endless,
a strawless yellow, days without texture,
vanishing, this is where I leave you.