On Imprecision


It’s a lazy day.

I’ve been making a meaning.

Not actively, not hewing or constructing one.

But in the reverie of moments, sifting,

seeking discoveries in the relative simplicities

of commonplace words and things.

I float in and through liminal space.

Wander, wonder.

A deep sea diver familiarising himself

with watery discoveries.

I float.

I circle and return, and peer again.

I watch how sentences sit on the seabed

of the everyday. Then how they shimmer

and shift in the liquid glow of attempts at understanding.

I sense how things are and despair of communicating this.

The lazy days, the days when nothing comes are hard work.

As I drown

the escaping bubbles

belch a new language.

3 Comments

  1. Fascinating! Much like Jeanie’s poem earlier Brian, “On Imprecision” is filled with many a wondering and wandering image and many great lines … especially those last three. Blessings always, Deborah.

    1. And again, like Jeanie’s, this piece, the essence of it came in the wee hours and then honed later. Like so much of what I do. Thanks for your kind words, Deborah.

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