WE RISE. Were there but two things, to hold in each hand. We know that we speak, I to the face of the clouds where I have drawn your voice, slipping the drawer back flush with the seamless world were I we. Holding first I within then I within, lift this we lift just once. The trees are filled with birds and it is time to write this. Where am I? I am here, out in the tall yellow grass that is a sheet. It seems that it is possible to slide down the sheet and that the hillside itself will give a little beneath my weight. This is important. Standing at the bottom of this valley talking up through. It could be any place I have exhausted with walking words. Making ladders out of the distance between two mouths. Pulling clouds along. Whisper and then the breeze. If we make. In it moving my hands as connective tissue between moments said and making the mouth mouthing like some somber stupid ity. Ladders made of the shapes of bottles and the word mandolin. Make a simple detail, crushing it like the stone mouth. Make words to make words. Slice the crushed bits of nothing into objects and movements. If we move. The day continues to diminish in the stone world of grass. A black ball, pincushioned by yellow sticks pointing out then back in. A ball of pins on the blue. The green became the glare pressing. It recedes just beyond the face, leaving the world the color of mustard. A man's body is the letter u beneath this ball, my body is. Such is starting to look, planted. Lying down walking and the knowing of things in white ordinary cloth. Away toward leaving to the small black marks on the ground at some distance, their walking and mine up through impossible trees, their branches. When waiting moves branches occur. So I approach what I would ask to turn with my hand. The miracles are modest and asking is lost. This word that carries its weight: lost. We are lifted to humility. The roads braid, all walked at once. Things are filtered from me, there is no denying this. The discovery of walking is relentless. This small stream has hidden a song of praise under its movement. The generous seed of things seems but a few steps away. Brown has become green and the blue reflected from the light. Healed by silent ordinances, I would remain in silence. Small words lift the dialogue from its bed. Simplicity and complexity are two steps which follow each other endlessly. The stone mouth has let the stream slip from its lip.