Muse

The upturned tupperware on the dish rack perfectly reflects the grey light of an overcast Saturday. A few white bowls sit to the side, one within the other, so that the smooth curved underside of the uppermost one holds still the light through the kitchen window, a square stretched over the bend. What else? What else? Nothing flinches nor shies away, moves away first, nothing that is, but me. Everything vies for my attention, meets me with an ontological confidence. Yes, I see you. Just as yesterday afternoon, driving slowly down the hill through the nearby shops, in the flow of traffic, I saw you…the man getting off his bicycle by the lamp post, my eyes rolling over the curve of his face as I drove past and he looked on, staying with his life for a few more moments. There are no questions here, no incompletenesses…only things, in idle suspension.