Building Anecdotes in the Margins of Discovery

A boy wanders his backyard — while dark encroaches
elsewhere — knowing some things can’t be seen
but are still here. Deep in his memory of wordless
magic, infused in the inoculum of imagined things,

stock logic interlocks a felt sense, that invaluable art
of asking one's self to step inside — if but only the window between
a braised barrage of thoughtless thoughts and swollen
clouds that construct him. Now very much beyond

the plain of mere curves, he observes the architecture
of objects far enough away, enough to interpolate
that distances are written behind them, barren
only to those who care little to see without seeing;

he shatters an alabaster planter his mother carefully
sequestered in the shade of a honeysuckle vine,
a thud rippling like a mud clod into a crystalline lake.
Where would he be without the arbitrary obstacles

in this world, or his? He does not yet realize the jump,
the momentary envelopment of fear until gravity
lands him on a new organic surface. Location
without awareness is nothing without existence.

By Isiah Fletcher , 14 Jul, 2020

tags
poetry philosophy

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