Not see through, because the thought of seeing through is a vanity. You can see only into. What is permitted you to see is not a bird on the other side of the glass but a bird-form within. At the back of the glass, where the art ends, are only birdless wordless shadow and opaque ne plus ultra of the dark.
In memory of David Peck Todd, the astronomer who almost but not quite discovered the moons of Mars.
When “here” means “within brick,” we can know what “died” means. But in the light around the clouds that Luke Howard looked up to learn, there is no such thing as the no longer changing.
Hawaii Kai recycling center, Honolulu, May 13, 2021: under the trailer.
In warm Hawaii a bag of empty cans will acquire a population of spiders and cockroaches, and the parking lots at the recycling depots will fill with gourmets like this cattle egret.
In cold Connecticut, Wallace Stevens wrote a poem called “The Man on the Dump” which ends with a find: among recyclables, the definite article.
Where was it one first heard of the truth? The the.
Through the poem, too, birds walk.
