This is my temporary mind.Stated thoughts,                                        black roses.(I often write you out, then into                                        my mind.)To verify this I have pictureshung upside down: your lipsa flat line in conflict, clothesline                                        pulled taut by lightness.I write                          from this mind.You taught me mathin color: “Red + Blue=Purple.”Imagination is an intraocular organ.Nightan intrinsic factor in the sun                                        that converges to light.A secret, an unstated fact.An equation of vacuum lies                                        between 59                                        and 60,                                        11.8 and 12, nightand midnight.I write you, for you arenot my secret.Instead I wear youlike spectacles, refuse to blink.Math in image: “Rain + Sun=Rainbow.”To which I asked, “Sun=Bow?”You answered, “Sun=Rain(Bow-1).”This is my mind, analogous to a hatthat swallows my face but declines the namemask. Emptied, it lies flatlike a bag. Unmaskyourself.Mind, name. What is sharedcannot be secret.In my mother tongue I say our                                    mother, to any of you                                    I’ve never met.Our home, which I alone occupy.If We=You + I, but We=I,you is 0, pure                                    as it disappears.Imagine: black rosescurled up in the lifeform of their deaths.If the eye is the destination—                                    from the mind—night diverges, becomes                                    light, vice versa.No space is empty, unless emptied.I want this space                                    between roses and the windto close.                  In time.Imagine: the sun arching                                    to its limit,a blister of light  to share.The arrow, gone.