In this story,
there isn’t necessarily a motif;
there are things that go around
the edges and are as important
as what’s in the middle.
it doesn’t level of at the edges,
but rather continues.
The life is a pattern.
It’s like an aerial photograph:
houses in all directions,
It can be like a graph.
It can be like a shopping mall
in the suburbs.
And you look at all this hieroglyphics
or women’s dresses crosshatched borders
and you think
if it means anything.
Is it how fish is caught in the net in the morning?
Is it the way we worship?
Is this the color of being lost?
Where does the pattern become a diary?
Or a secret code?
What does it mean – life?