after Nicolas St.-Stael
Where this is.
Casual, its hungry grace:
uneasy or merely damped down,
like a caged animal’s prowling mind.
The surface is still,
but surfaces still.
Gathering up on its defective fringe
what will not be displayed.
In this moment is where this is,
neither remembered, nor expected,
but as guiltless and detached
as the thorough interior of a dream.