White-Binder Poems  

By David Eide  

From a distance it is a blackness
From a distance it is a rock
And here in the non-distance there is 
           nothing; everything.

We read everything through a desire,
beauty coaxes a desire,
sirens along the earth shore bring us up

Space, the fierce emptiness we always expected,
Light, a space that burns a hole through the
         personable Andes Mountains.

A city, ancient and empty, stands mute
    in the crevice of an old hand.

What goes into the center?

There's a little politics, a little love, some
treachery and the mind comes out with something.

A man who talks.
The narrator that is  thrown out in desperation;
sent out among a litany of petty heroism/

down to the dark it all makes.