My window was infinite as a ring—

there was no break
to tell where it began,
and where it began again.
Everything was always
beginning: even the rain
thinning out was a beginning,
the sun tugging on the curtain-
pull to signal the start
of our nightly theatre. The river
clears its throat over and over
again: the world, unfinished,
alive with rehearsal.


In response to Via Negativa: Eavesdropper.

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