So dense. The density. A reduced world.
The room…
But better, nevertheless, the waking world,
the object-poor, the edgeless.
WILLIAM BRONK
It does not have to be
but let it be
a dream: the room
is made completely of wood
several kinds
of wood, planed
whole and nearly smooth
as the machines
used to lift and position stone
for pyramids
must have been.
There is nothing between
the angles of the wood. There
are no windows, no light or air.
Surely, it is wrong to want to be here
wrong not to choose the room’s opposite
the sky
where everything is approximate
and large, the ocean
which is the same as the sky.
It is even brave to do this
to remain
in the relative
except
endlessly, endlessly
to feel the directions of grain
the faint edges
where the shapes are joined
everywhere a definiteness
everywhere density.
The dream is the shape—
pure, yet enlarging—
of sensation
a definition of sensation
that is more than that
the density of
—how would you say—
the self itself
expanded, to a world.
There are no windows.