Today the Sky is Flat
but you are not, you are almost perfect,
parting the air as you walk to leave a calm
following like the wake and gulls behind a ferry.
But from behind your back you produce the pan
I burnt the aduki beans in, tender
bean-shaped holes stippling its black bottom.
I’m always getting things wrong: the world
is full of things struggling to be metaphors
for the exact opposite of everything I dream of.
Sometimes I think I only do this to encourage
the world of appearances to be other than it is.
I keep on looking at things as if I imagined them.
I’m trying to stop. I’m sorry about the pan.
In the poem I was writing it was full of water.
It was only just starting to boil.
Page(s) 19
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