(After Wallace Stevens’ “Of The Surface Of Things”)
Colligated points, dust, ultimately a cloud, as in
an orographic cloud in Colorado cringing against
a horizon. Boundaried vision and vapor conspire
to exhale, exalt into rain random dispersal into
the present: I see as far as that. I never saw farther.
In sinking air, mammatus cloud a sign the storm
has passed is passing… I walk happily whenever
or sometimes pass the last bad sign the bounded
land, I am sad as you are doubtless. Sad said
the bad man, somber. Otherwise say:
In my room the world is beyond
my understanding;/ But when I walk I see
that it consists of three or four hills
and a cloud.