The faded rose, the faded jeans, the faded sun—
All the clichés of daily use—are not in the grit
Of experience, the myriad specifics of the ever-
Changing Now. Arranging, sectioning, slicing;
We organize the day: Arise. (No: Arise!) Go.
(No: “Go now!”) Do. (No: “Do!”) Rest. (Know
Rest.) The unseen spider web, a walked-through
Line in the air, catches you and requests
That you participate: The sticky touch of life.
There is no eye in the poem, no face coming
Into the light to speak it as it is, Reader.
It’s like asking the iris to open, to bloom: You
Are not required for it to grow. Only to see.