where. in what quarter of the mind. with which finger to point to.
precisely there. nothing so simple as a page. the grace of a number.
a name a phrase underlined. as if there were something to be explained.
in the hand’s inscribing. the signs to self. of something other than.
resigned to the margins. wherever there’s space for something else.
some unself. in search of. there in the ditch or the doorway. aside.
there’s a wanderer in every song. if every song is what’s unheard. by the way.
to attend to it then. that’s an answer. to the pencil held to the paper.
its grey attraction to the things written there. in the whiteness. the white.
where no one goes. there is no why. there is no way. but the walking of it.
which is to say. the words were there before. in everything read. every one said.
there the deaths gather. the derangements. go on gathering. this too.
of the process. proceeding from the first word. to follow the sounds.
the songs implicit in everything. or nothing. every thing that persists.
or sits by the roadside. footsore or hard as a stone. flowering say. or.
about to die. finding its day. or quarter for the night. where. where.
in what quarter of the mind. precisely where. to find its daylight.
where in the occupied whiteness to find the words for it. page after page turned to.
the numberless pages. and nothing but the spaces for the fingers to point to.
the hand holding the pencil. grey against the paper.
.
Ray Malone
.
~