Obscurity has its tale to tell.
Like the figure on the studio-bed in the corner,
out of range, smoking, watching and waiting.
Sun pours through the skylight onto the worktable
making of a jar of pencils, a typewriter keyboard
more than they were. Veridical light…
Earth budges. Now an empty coffee-cup,
a whetstone, a handkerchief, take on
their sacramental clarity, fixed by the wand
of light as the thinker thinks to fix them in the mind.
O secret in the core of the whetstone, in the five
pencils splayed out like fingers of a hand!
The mind’s passion is all for singling out.
Obscurity has another tale to tell.