Stumbling Upon the Parallax
I-I-I witnessed myself waving from the far horizon,
Walking backward, disappearing below the rippling grasses,
Drowned in green sure. Did I-I try to call out a warning?
Did I wince? Rather, no:
I-I-I I set my lumpy fists on fattened hips and sighed,
“So long, memory. So long, sunglint in the eye erasing
what’s vision and envisioned.”
Language become child in the iris of a black hole.
I-I’m turning now. No need to linger. I-I-I own the spectre
of me disappearing in memoriam evermore.
Own, I say, every damned damnable thing ceded.
As I. As ‘I’.
That’s what giving up is, is it not.
