Suddenly, one morning,
you start
to see again.
You look out and say—
the clouds are racing
across the sky.A little snow has piled up
on the corners of the roofs,
in the gutters.
Things are becoming real— or,
you are remembering how
to make them real.
You are remembering
how
to be real.
Wind whips down the alley,
the weather is changing.
Everything is grey.
Everything is moving. Even
the buildings, today,
might fly away.
You don’t know what’s coming
any more
than the trees—
the wind’s simple language
is not
yours.
Maybe nothing?— No,
there’s no such thing
as nothing anymore.
Be ready to speak.
Hold your eyes open
as long as you can.
