Snow became water on the windshield.
Waves resolved themselves as words
For various thoughts that melted to slush
In the mind of the brain of the body
Translating the visible spectrum of waves.
Earlier in the day and at a lower elevation,
Ornamental blossoms already gone to leaf,
That same mind, more or less, had imagined
Other minds considering the waves formed
From the words of the thoughts that the mind
Had considered, more or less, as its own,
And had wondered at how limited, how small
Its thoughts were, how constrained by being
Processed through the mind of such a brain
Of a body afflicted with just this variety of cultural
Privileges and biological maladies—and, of course,
Vice versa. How typical of this kind of body
At this cultural moment were the thoughts
That the mind had composed for many years
As a kind of lyric poetry, more or less,
Run through a blender with essays, adages,
Misquotations, neologisms, paranomasias,
Doggerel, and diaries. How typical the mind?
More snow collected below the wet pines.
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