When thinking about Shelley, this popped out tonight. No doubt it will read as rubbish to most, and I can appreciate that. Explaining it would be shameful, so my understanding must remain left behind for the moment.
Back to Back
Were that you were there,
where here was its future,
I would read you, not you, I.
That not that, was that that
has found yet, that this that
not, that at all, still is, that.
The expansion of a moment
in our being empty to it
is the substance of paradox.
You brought me to this.
I risk my life to write it,
inbetween, life and death.
© rjduberg, 2007
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