on this day / or any other

& no it’s not a landscape painting
I’m talking about a prospect wherein

vision gets unhooked from the sockets. & no it’s not
a love song about blindness or the way

she moves. rather it is standing
in the midst of nothing & the wind passing

since seeing was always a curse, the boundary
between things floating

up to foil how anyone might touch
or travel. unless we can find a non-

delineated dance proliferating otherwise
in the unhasty unfolding of we’re already there

à la Hegel re: Kant, & not like
that Caspar David Friedrich painting either

(some solitary man-figure surveying
what was already his so it becomes his again)

but instead unvisioning the world, not like
Heidegger, obviously, not the thing at hand

but like the hand repeating a motion
forever, writing her beloved like this is politics

this is the end of all endings
& the wind

More Poems by Mia Kang