unfinished work

i'm stringing words along a paper trail,
hoping you would find me - in my vulnerability.
me, among my countless books that
lay unopened [
] if you ask, i shall lend them to you forever,
and make use of those words that fly in the air when
i'm gone, and make them symbols of that ineffable
thing we were before - that philosophers call ἀπειρον.
[ ]
i stand along the thin borders of sheol,
looking down at the depths of the world.
thinking maybe i myself am a symbol,
or maybe i'll tumble down further,
and return to the front of your mind,
just as the sun runs across the tracks of day and night.