On the Spot...

Flit
- dart - an idea
arcs the cold, then a clutch
of related thoughts;
slim branches don't even
flicker with the weight
of what's landed;


Animate alphabet
whizzing past our face,
little black and white hurry,
as if a form of notation
accompanied our walk,
a little ahead of us.
and a bit behind. If we
could see their trajectory.

If their trace remained
in the winter air,
what a tunnel they'd figure;
skein of quick vectors
above our head,
a fierce braid.
Improvised, their decisions
- the way one makes poetry
from syntax - unpredictable,
resolving to wild regularity
(thought has to flit
to describe it, speech
has to try that hurry).
A scaffolding---

a kind of argument about
being numerous.
Thread and rethread - alight.
Study. We might be carrying
crumbs. We're not. I wish.
Their small heads cock,
they lift (no visible effort,
as if flight were the work
of the will only), light,
a little further along,
and though they're silent
it seems you could hear
the minute repeating registers
of their attention.

* -*- the here you are
yes here you yes.


Pronoun reference unclear.
Who looks at us
- an aerial association
of a dozen subjectivities,
or a singular self
wearing, this afternoon.
Twelve pair of wings?
Collectivity of sparks,
sparking collectivity ?
Say live resides not inside feathers or skin
but in the whizzing medium.
No third person.

Sharp, clear globe of August,
and we - the fourteen of us -
The thinking taking place.
We is instances of alertness,
grammar help me.
Mind in the ringing day,
a little of us ahead
and a bit behind,
and all that action
barely disturbs the air.