foreground their eyes
who is not her
are not turning to trees
this communal eye

when the leaves move
her bellbottoms and my lapel
wind of your opening
gallery, galleria

the science of your leaving
annotations to your thought
the shade of your sight
your tree of arrows, many arrows

this gallery wind
this man’s red jacket

Vanbridge looks left
at the woman in the red jacket

note to self: simulate the passage of clouds

what is behind your eye has died
(epicenter of an apple hung)

this pen will empty of ink
you can walk on it
you can, you glass

you are closed, one root in the ground
the root now on opposite sides

if my head were a television
do I like this painting
whispered to

the register
wind on the eye
this wind lacking

in different stages
of identical progression

what you are given
the latest meaning of register

this communal eyebox
shudderless
with and without windows
without window frames

in left
our right
a bend minus the eye

there are no rats
but squeaking wharfs

can the light on the sky
the retina and noises and
bottles tied to trees

the noise of grammar
the road that is a splotch
having passed to pasture
customers

inside her jacket an imagined can light
inside this sentence Cezanne