Waiting for the poetry reading
to get started, I turn around
to apologize to the man
sitting diagonally behind me
for blocking his view.
I am tall. The back of my head
has absorbed a thousand
silent curses at movies, concerts,
theatrical performances, etc.
But he says it’s OK,
thanks me for my kindness.
My friend sitting next to me
offers to switch seats,
but I say no,
if I sat there I’d really block
his view — unless
my head were to become
suddenly transparent,
which I wish it would do,
the solid self, the illusion
of the solid self, gone:
just eyes and ears to see
and hear with, otherwise
vacant space, clean, open, clear,
like a window a breeze
blows into, billowing
the white diaphanous curtains,
and there’s an empty chair
where a man once sat
reading, thinking, thinking
of nothing, offering no
obstruction, nothing to obstruct.