Tabula Rasa You speak as if to remember; as if to wonder how words escape through tiny cracks. I track them down—revel in the thought. And what of the light switch that is somehow jammed; neither off nor on, but stuck unwittingly in-between —picking fights with the fuse box. That is how these things are; learning to live with the difference between understanding & feeling —they are not set in stone. Finding a home for fugitive words vexes me; the aftermath is mostly squinting through a looking glass at suspects —blinded by snow.
