cleaning up so well (jones_casey) wrote,
cleaning up so well
jones_casey

  • Music:

prologues to what is possible











the metaphor stirred his fear. the object with which he was
      compared
was beyond his recognizing. by this he knew that likeness
      of him extended
only a little way, and not beyond, unless between himself
and things beyond resemblance there was this and that
      intended to be recognized,
the this and that in the enclosures of hypotheses
on which men speculated in summer when they were half
      asleep.


what self, for example, did he contain that had not yet been
      loosed,
snarling in him for discovery as his attentions spread,
as if all his hereditary lights were suddenly increased
by an access of color, a new and unobserved, slight
      dithering,
the smallest lamp, which added its puissant flick, to which
      he gave
a name and privilege over the ordinary of his
      commonplace—


a flick which added to what was real and its vocabulary,
the way some first thing coming into northern trees
adds to them the whole vocabulary of the south,
the way the earliest single light in the evening sky, in
      spring,
creates a fresh universe out of nothingness by adding itself,
the way a look or a touch reveals its unexpected
      magnitudes.
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