In Borges

In Borges,

a blind writer

meets

a blind reader

and neither knows

the one that writes

nor the one that reads

perhaps the two write

to gather some pebbles

from a walk down some

re membered beach

or that both read

to under stand the

on clear cloudless

puffing wisps of smoke on the roof

for neither     in deed           writes

any thing        of                    this world

and neither    in deed           reads

they often go fishing on a newfound shore

catching echoes on the waves of their minds

writing and reading

such unwitting

these two

are but one

and the same

equally indifferent

in their no thing ness

                                     equally sublime

like a psychedelic shroom