I thought I knew you but I know thought,
my sense of myself and you today is illusion
or delusion, or something unimportant among
the houses and the streets and the trees
and the children and the black glass of the
sea—

words are not seas, not black glass

words are seas, are black glass

one is singular in delusion

one is twice in illusion until the sea comes

the sea comes the sea

—I thought I knew you but it was as if
  I knew thought, thought knew you

—Celan’s clinkergame
  Jean’s shadow book

—your house up against the unimportant shadow

—your bright black glass north, south

—my sense of myself as childhood
  staying snow

—don’t dismiss anything or anyone by saying
  by saying unimportant so