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                                start where you are
                                envelopped in the world

                                so do I pry open the locale
                                to see how I am found

                                but careful not to crack the world
                                to see where I am located

                                … no, that’s not it

                                not prying open
                                but you don’t become stuck

                                in matter or location (and neither
                                become lost in daydream or script)


                                you look where you are and
                                receive it with compassion and all the detail

                                flowing in without resistance and
                                whenever I evince judgement – ‘thinking’ –

                                let it sink back into view like
                                brushed paint onto a second coat

                                never located
                                always travelling

                                scene 1:

                                three women in the quieter
                                study area of the library


                                a cough when I sat to join the table
                                an ‘excuse me’ a look up a wink –
                                was that a wink? – she reads lime highlights
                                and Evian, arms crossed prop the book like
                                a lap top over the edge of the table
                                a book on museum ethics awaiting
                                her right eyebrow crooked naturally to read

                                unplugged, but she has a good hour
                                on the central table, she plinks and
                                brinks open and sits still as a hill range
                                receding only the corner of her mouth
                                and lip-emote and deft at the text
                                the clear green eyes flick and decide
                                at the corrections to be made

                                legs crossed ankle boots
                                foot pointing circling retrieving
                                boot cuffs clapping slightly behind
                                while reading, then stopped when editing
                                round chin profile, raggedy hair
                                spun in constant bun brow raise –
                                mess of poised fingers work the keyboard


                                I delved awhile into ‘Stars Over
                                The Dordogne’ – falling
                                presentiment – and looked up

                                scene II:

                                my boot-circler was gone, just gone –
                                I didn’t see her leave – was she even there?

                                but the sun had moved window-
                                tinted across their faces

                                one had shiny hair and breathed
                                regularly head-collapsed

                                the other placed her book flat on the table
                                keep the sun off her face on her ponytail

                                scene III:

                                during ‘The Rival’ unplugged was called
                                she had to go to Nero’s to check her link

                                (library censorship – smirk in her lilt)
                                she stretched long and distant …

                                … then gathered and left


                                I wrote the scenes I checked the dictionaries
                                time to go, ‘oh’ she said tapping her phone

                                ‘time flies …’ I said, ‘yes, but I feel I haven’t
                                got anywhere’; ‘but you’ve been here all along;

                                all four of us’
                                I didn’t say …


already, there is a sequel in post-production, coming to a post near you soon: all the distance I have travelled!




being & emptiness & identity & letting go wormhole: fall
books & travelling wormhole: Desolation Angels
breathing & settling wormhole: … back to the outbreath
compassion & faces & lime & speech wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
eyes wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
feet & table wormhole: gold wedding band
green wormhole: “King …”
hair wormhole: sight / seeing
hills wormhole: the poppies / of van Gogh
Lewes wormhole: the Buddha head in an antique shop
looking & sitting & sound wormhole: prologue-ing
mouth wormhole: new year’s eve 2014; train up to London to / walk the bridges across the Thames, and / listen to the voices say it is, and was, like, / but get back home before the fireworks / obliterate it all in the emptying twilight
muse wormhole: oh,
reading & Sylvia Plath wormhole: on the raised patio reading Plath
sun & windows wormhole: heirloom – break / after heavy shower
talking to myself wormhole: really old
thinking wormhole: relapse
time wormhole: time proceeds
woman wormhole: End Israeli / Apartheid
world wormhole: mass