Winter 2001 • Vol. XXIII No. 1 Poetry |

Philosopher’s Stone

It's like this. There are quantities. There's on-         goingness—there's an underneath. Over it we lay time: although it's more like takes and re-          takes by mind (eyes closed) then clickings of its opening-out and the open fills with gazes—thousands over some visualizations—(or some places if you wish—I wish)—a few or no gazes over some (because somewhere there must be a meadow with just such                   grasses only two or three gazes have touched—because it is touch—and other places where millions have laid down their mental waters in this manner). Above and below our gaze, I don't know for sure—(although I believe there must be a truth)—gravity lies, is laid, in—like a color being washed over the whole—a tint with a direction in it—or rather a tint that places tiny arrowings, or the sensation of pulling, of being pulled, over all of the visualization—eyes open now—ov

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.