A field refuses the observer's demand for a clean explanation, leaving attention to do its own work.
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The field declines to translate. I bring a name; it keeps the weather. I bring a measure; it opens wider. Somewhere, a small thing turns without becoming an answer. I leave with less language and more ground beneath me.
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A calm impossible arrangement becomes a quiet pressure that alters the speaker's habits of attention.
An explanation fails at the edge of an experience, leaving the speaker with a more honest and less complete language.
A surreal & fantastical poem about figure, object, light, where attention changes the scale of the ordinary.
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