Caught up in things

the mind wanders

out through our eyes, a thing

amongst things / at the command

of words / blind to itself / it radiates

from a self / this world

of immanence

& ideality / its upheavals & turbulence

become ciphers

of the visible / a texture

of Being

// exhaled //

inside a space / of vision

& movement

of humans who speak

from a pre-spatial / world, intertwined

in the roots of being

this texture

between a hand / & another hand

not contained / a spectacle

of nothing

moving / but self-moving

it ignores

what is unknown / & we awaken

to an echo of bodies

the voices of light, soil

beneath our feet / shifting

& repeating

"we are the inside / of the outside / touching"

ourselvestouching

as a question

not of lines (there is no border

visible in itself) but the mind

enters these lines

as they pass / through us

& surround us / we see / but there is

no actual awakening

to hold / suspended / transformed

in a thought

this world

that demands things / of things

that are not in themselves / things

the plural x

of our operations / to substantiate

we enter into a reversibility

of dimensions

into a cultural regime / a thickness

of meaning

reduced to a set / of techniques

& data / a plane

that cannot be assigned

space

radiates onto a map

of the visible / transforms

a world / into things

where there is neither truth

nor falsehood

& no enigma

but that of the blinding

light / of visibility

forming shadows / a reflection / opened up

& so quickly closed

"the mind is an instrument that moves itself”

a metaphysics / of depth

that our eyes & hands
cannot discover