The whole thing's thick
and featureless and dense
and close. Impervious
to guess, conjecture,
measurement. It hasn't
any more or less of true
dimension than a thought,
but no thought can go in
or through. It cannot truly
be described. It takes up
all the room you knew
was once so airy, dancing
light! We picture it
rectangular: a solid block
or box - but if the latter,
then the lid is locked. The
door's invisible, the key
is lost
in thought, and angled where
it's dull and solid all the way
right through and through. Without
a hole
or hollow space
to squirrel away the wondrous things
you thought were true - had spied
at times, could place in mind,
and set free effortless on wings,
to follow
on.
It's just
this block
has filled the room
you used to work
for want and wish
and all good things.
That room, once filled
is gone. You know
this block quite well,
by now. Perhaps
you should try
just one kiss? Try it
just to see, maybe.
Maybe it runs away.
Perhaps, it melts
into the throes
of ecstasy.
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