This is a poem called «?»
Questions that hum shadows onto ceiling walls walked beside me
I waited as damp dusks of silence and late winter
turned to the fullness of the subaltern.
It is made of what you willingly and unwillingly forgot,
dreams that shriveled into themselves but still shaped the morning
slippery things that hold no truth but what you fear they might.
It recalled the experience of holding a pebble and then tossing it into a wild sea
never to be seen by anyone ever again.
What were those dreams
the little lives and little selves that faded in the whiteness of the sun?
The harshness spoke to me at half-past six. Whispered my name and set all sound alight
But a spectre of childhood – multifaceted and always opening
She made me doubt the chiming of voices in the square below. The radiator.
The girl sleeping nearby.
the doubt wanted to take my name and my shadow
Turn my life into a fluorescent display with nothing behind the light
Did she exist underneath day – subverting and shifting and undoing perspective
Leaving unseen what should have been seen.
Sifting through memory and rejecting past time
until this second is the only truth