Emptiness
I wanted to know
how to make things beautiful
on the window ledge for instance
where light lies like a taught film
over the freshly oiled sill
and things have shadows
like tall men.
Maybe if I moved them around.
When my large Spanish dictionary
thumps from upright onto the floor
it startles the breath out of me.
I spread my shoulders, expand,
suck in the beautiful air.
Beyond the window
beauty bathes undressed
on the far mountain
with a forehead of snow
and a cap of sunlight
even in the empty places
whose detail I cannot see.
How to fill carefully
sculpted bowels and vials
with equal emptiness.
First things first.
Straighten the candle
to burn upright;
the rooster, green pepper
and two onions
have to hang in the kitchen
or dining room;
the lizard needs to stick
on the proper wall
to bathe its beautiful back
in the right light.
I know where beauty is not –
in the jumble of stuffed
lines,
mess
of much
too much
to say to do to think to see.
And sometimes
where it is.
My hand in your hand
for instance
a beautiful thing
with just enough
emptiness.
- Henry Rappaport