It is in front of the tree.
The houses around the windows are lit
by it, it turns off and goes upon
knees and wherever the bone is almost next
to the skin. It has been defamed.
It will become undernourished.
It is not without end. It is not.
It is not what you can let happen,
or cause to happen, or has anything
at all to do with happening.
It happens as it exists without effect.
It is the pure in pure mathematics.
It is the sully in unsullied rain.
It is the pain in painfully.
It is also the fully. It is
the light in highlight and headlight,
the head in headland, the towering
in towers, trees, the outstretched
in shadows of mountains on plains and lakes.
It is not the water in the lake, however,
it is not cupped.
If it exists, it is unaware of it.
It could name itself however, and does.
It contains alphabets.
It is infinite and therefore the smallest thing.