This one appeared to me
in a dream, was forgotten,
only to reveal itself
on the shower wall
this morning.
It must have been the water.
     •
That one was on the full moon
last night, clear as a bell.
Someone projected it there.
     •
This one was on the ground,
on crunchy pine needles.
The moon projected it there. 
     •
I forgot about that one . . .
How was I to know
it would be significant?
     •
Every time I see this one,
I'm angry. It doesn't diminish,
either, from that first time. 
     •
Oh, that one!
To tell you the truth,
I never actually
saw it, but I could
feel it as it was
described to me
by a blind person
over the phone.
    •
This one I spotted
on the back
of someone's shirt
in a crowd
before she disappeared. 
    •
That one evolved,
and is still evolving,
on that big, flat rock
over there; something
scraped it, scratched it,
the heat cracked it,
the frost coated it,
tiny plants took root,
sheltering insects,
and it rained,
and it rained,
and by the time
I showed up,
a butterfly had just flown off. 
     •
Not this one again.
It makes me so sad . . .
     •
I was glad to receive
that one as a gift.
So glad, in fact,
that I went and had
some copies made. 
     •
Believe it or not,
this one has a sound.
Just listen.
    •
Oh, boy—that one!
I'll never go there again. 
    •
This one often arrives
in the smoke of incense.
     •
I tried to turn
that one over—
it burned my hand.
    •
This one I tried
to discard—
unsuccessfully, obviously.
    •
That one speaks to me
of space, and negative space,
of open and filled spaces,
and the among
that comes between. 
    •
Whereas this one
is the opposite—
you get the picture.
   •
Oh, my goodness—
I've never seen
that one before!
    •
This one, from what
I gather,
is an accident.
    •
That one, however,
is intended.
    •
This one took some
getting to—
waiting for the thaw,
for instance—
but it was
well worth it.
   •
That one, well,
you can have it.
    •
Whenever this one
comes my way,
it's déjà vu,
but I'm r