Made misreading a marriage. That was how it started.
Stilled the deepening—
didn’t matter if it was mystery
or fact, it was all
mystery scaffolding
metacognition. When I worked
in the Traveling Monastery (“envisionment building”)
each day was hard prayer. My supervisors told me
spark each word off the flint
of the last. I fought
with the analogy until
endless wish untangled. I was first again, my head unspent.
Retirement followed. Distance obliterated. But still locked in a method
I couldn’t erase. Of course life tried,
life tried. In walked so many, so much
that had forgotten me. I introduced myself
to old ones. Apparently I had earned the look
of too much loss, and I got it. Boy did I get it. So many
had lost me. I used to live there, there, in the eye, in the billions,
in the slow human numbers, how they haunt me.
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2 comments:
Missing: identification of the two that were determined by chance operation.
My process was this, sketched out in advance:
1. I glanced quickly at the titles and then tried to forget them.
2. I wrote something of a poem.
3. During a conference on Friday, I wrote down only the terms that made absolutely no sense. Two bubbled to the top of that heap: "scaffolding metacognition" and "envisionment building."
4. I then returned to the list of titles, picked one, and improvised a new poem (based on the old poem) while working in my two best nonsensical phrases.
5. This is not entirely chance-based, I know. I will do better in the future to abide by the rules.
6. Speaking of which, the next assignment falls in your court.
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