Mine to ask a mask to say, A is not A.
No one, ever the contrarian, to answer.
The moon is both divided & multiplied
by water: as chance, as the plural of chant.
O diver, to be sea-surrounded by a thought bled white—
a blankness as likely as blackness.
What is the word for getting words & forgetting?
Might night right sight?
I, too late to relate
I & I, trap light in sound
& sing no thing that breath can bring.
Copyright © Andrew Joron
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.