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.