this is

what are these letters?
what are these words, these images,
except a bunch of lies i’ve put together
to construct a wall around myself, or around
you? where are you, anyway? where do i
fit you into the large, blackened and charred
photo frame that insulates my world
and keeps it comfortable? in this
computerized age what are we when we are
away from the computers that keep us
separated? if it isn’t data what is its
worth? i don’t even truly know
what love is. and you can tell me
that you do, if that’s what you want.
you can try to tell me what this is, you can
tell me anything you want to,
and anything you need to.

here in the twilight

painted photographs of another lifetime,
in blue and green and yellow,
of a world where up is left and down
is “I don’t know.” somewhere
where you wouldn’t be afraid.
somewhere in the twilight.
imagine yourself with everyone
you ever loved, all at once, and all
of your essences blending together in some
kind of impossible existential orgy. everyone you ever
lost, all back where you can find them again.
as the sun is setting, imagine
what it looked like when you were born,
imagine what the sun looked like when it first
rose on the world, or what it will look like
when it sets tomorrow. imagine an endless procession
of sunrises and sunsets, stretching out from the dawn
of time to one day in the future, perhaps sooner perhaps
later, blurring together and then slowing down and spreading
apart.
          now imagine that other world, with its
blues and its greens and its yellows.
imagine it, because it won’t imagine
                                                       itself.
here we are in the twilight, and here is
the sunshine, and here is the rain, and
sometimes it’s hard to tell if the photo
is life or if life is just another photo,
but what you can do is
you can start with the sunrise and then
move on from there.