--- M I C H A E L   R O T H E N B E R G

These were about things I knew
Specific lover or moment
Then I knew less but I didn't care
because I still understood the feeling
Stepping out of the story through
the scenery of trees or clouds
streets or houses
into a thought twitching occupation
like a leaf or stick grazing

And this abstract phenomenon
that speaks of experience                    
smells of flesh but is fleshless
and transparent
hurls in timeless current
like a wall against emotion

Button the collar, tuck it in
Make a suit of it
Bind it to reputation
Then the larger abstraction
is uprooted
by whatever makes life
and sends it in the whirl
to join the unspeakable
constellations, drift of stars
in and out of creation
as if the name of it becomes it
when it only loitered
on the corner for a breath

Even disappearing
is too known for the unknown
The unspeakable   
Could music or light
be more perfect than the word?