You put yourself together
You put yourself together from bits and pieces, descriptions in notes, chance reflections reflected by chance back through a life of damp asphalt mirrors, from your hair as it slips into your eyes and the folds of your skirts sometimes lifting over your feet and how your feet step, persuasively, but a mystery to you until they fell, across the concrete, broken at tree roots, and into high brown grasses that your skirts rustle following the breeze and your hands clasp the old bark of a silver tree. You put yourself together from what you are not. You are not me, we both are alone in an afternoon, where I end you begin, I want to end. You could be me. You kneel in the dry grass and eat what was in a foam carton you find there. It is not a show. You crouch, your hands beneath the heatherline, you finish. You arent driven by necessity but by what happens, and as necessity passes you linger most of the time barely noticing yourself. Nothing needs you. You dont stop to see yourself against the things that you touch or pass in front of. It is easier if you dont look. You might forget what you thought would be there, it could turn into something else, or just wash away leaving you painfully occupying nothing but your body, in a void, when you look, the emptiness begs to be filled, when you stop looking, the emptiness lingers, a stage for imminent scrutiny and exposure. At this time of day, in this rain from the full beige sky, you are full in yourself, you are visible, I can see you.
