I look for the way
Things will turn
Out spiralling from a center,
The shape
Things will take to come forth in

So that the birch tree white
Touched black at branches
Will stand out
Totally its apparent self:

I look for the forms
Things want to come as

From what black wells of possibility,
How a thing will

Not the shape on paper though
That, too but the
Uninterfering means on paper:

Not so much looking for the shape
As being available
To any shape that may be
Summoning itself
Through me
From the self not mine but ours.

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