sometimes I see it as a straight line
drawn with a pencil and ruler

or as a finger piercing
a smoke-ring, Casual, inquisitive,

but then the sun will come out
or the phone will ring
and I will cease to wonder

if it is one thing
a larger ball of air and memory
or many things
a string of small farming towns
a dark road winding through them.

Let's us say it is field
I have been hoeing everyday
hoeing and singing.
Then going to sleep in one of it's furrows

now that it's is more than half over ,
a partially open door ,
rain dripping from the caves ,

like yours , it could be anything,
a nest with one egg
a halloway that leads to a thousand rooms

Whatever happens to float into view.
when I close my eyes
or look out a window
for more than a few minutes
so that some days I think
it must be everything and nothing at once.