Between the lake and river hemmed by pine trees and small boats there is a highway leading to an abandoned house. And in this house there is a mirror hanging on an adobe wall. And the wall guards a window which frames this view of a deserted barn with a slanted roof sitting on the parched ground of a vacant lot during a cloudless day— Now supposing I memorize this picture,
would I get the colors right? name them burnished slate and porcelain clay, gypsum dust or sapphire blue? Could I measure the silence? valuate its depth and width like the account left in fossil leaves, or mineral bone? You are supposing I should know
the poetry of empty spaces, the distance between the ripples and the halos around a winter moon. But supposing now all I see is dark spaces around and in between that house, that wall, that which invades our dreams— what could be. And what it means.