An approach: evening, or
the splaying of a hand to catch rain. That morning,
I had drawn sheep on a rock in ash, they are there
evermore, or
dependent on a slip of the nerve, a break
in the cloud. I am not here to ask whether
not the A and E cannot be cloven, or
if they must always be fused. I cannot read,
and the ash tree makes a shadow.
I know nothing else, nothing knows me. There was
a woman with a lace collar who gave me a book
through a cat flap. I looked at the pictures.
and I was not satisfied. I drew in the margins. I let
the sheep in with the rain.