Note: these five short sections appear in sequence near the middle of this book-length poem.

Opening the yod that goes with this space
the book is awake

enters a tiny point.
The-point.
of the-The







The-the. A-the.
What a book!
Presenting streaks in light
of celestial smoke
by folding black A's inside white the's.



::



Black ABC's code inside
this white fold that little slip


frill and sweet honey ruffle
multiple registers that travel
to the serif of one letter.




::



The serif of one letter or


one red dot
dripping a flower-fashioned fractal
over the peony core.
Then at edges, everything's midrash.


::



Right at the edge, midrash piled on midrash, Pelion on Ossa, to

highlite the vitreous floaters with comment and interp. And there's

	the "yesterday I"

				had a diaristic impulse but

		it didn't work out, now, did it?



::

or Did it? Can't tell? Blame

the unwritable oddities of journey-- "the daily";

blame the persistent bad manners of the dark horse

mashing the other one in the yoke,

bumping sideways into-- o that horse!-- the gloss.