The Art of Subtraction

In the afternoon, in summer,

sitting by the pond, I did the math.

Subtraction was

the next best thing to insight I could manage.

Take away the house, the tree, the bird.

Get rid of walls, real or imagined.

Look for less in everything around you.

I became a snail with nothing but my shell

to carry forward. It was not

as bad as maybe you might think.

I pared the dictionary down as well,

saved only nouns like stones along a path,

saved verbs that moved in one direction.

Ancillary parts of speech

seemed pointless and could go to hell.

I’m back this afternoon, in autumn,

sitting where I used to,

trying once again to clear my head,

subtract the last things I don’t need,

get down to only

what cannot be shaken loose or said.