“Can he read the signs he is using?”
–Anne Carson, translating Sophocles
if it’s not his but her hands
which guide him home
what’s left to understand
how he wonders can he not
trust the vision given will be
able to discern the turns
between each tightly folded
question and bring an answer
back through him into a form
he can hold for a moment without
thinking beyond curled swaths
of breath drawing lines into air
with epiphanal silence they fall
from his hands like pebbles
into dust the soft puffs rise
leaving small circled pocks
like runes across cave walls
or kisses across her skin
(January 11, 2015)
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