Within the lip and loom of limbo. Limb lazy, almost unperturbed, but living still, slightly shaken, a subtle stir.
Difference scarcely scored, imperceptible is not worth mention. A canny kind of collude. There (might be) this, (might be) that – too hard to say, and who could do it? Only one driven to be wrong, reductive, defining. Only one agitated or alarmed by the way of things – that there were no way.
Indiscernibles. Indeterminate. Impossible to compute: is how it is. These signs erase, and we are there. As if in front with, as if of face and gaze. As if event. As if participant and become. As if no one might tell apart.
Why tell apart?
Wrangled together in wrestle, why choose? If breath must mingle to say, why delegate, select? Cloud moves over, under and through, toward, into, and away – to no one’s noticeable chagrin. Why we?
Tender spots trace gentle rain, in river, barrel, lake, exempt of rage or reason. Only a sprinkle, a feed and possible weal, so glance and touch, brush and care, a slightly stumble, a cell’s conceive.
Misremembered, but no mind, flavor, sight, the wind through trees. Nothing is without. Nothing alone, should it perchance to be. Mysterious, illogical motive of undoing. Prepositional violence. Pre-positions, a tearing apart.
Muscle, scent, and fur. The various forms of water – cloud, drizzle, flow. Flesh with flesh and whispered angles. Breath with sound and ear. A thought.
Inseparability and subterfuge. Had never been, may not be, unstill it is…the way….questionally unquestioned, sifting in drift, conjunctions of convergence, some impossible begin.