What Is The Measure, The Table... Poem by Carlos Barbarito

What is the measure, the table,
the outline? In the shadow, instinct;
in the light, rust
that migrates from cable to cable.
I think, I don't think: it combs its hair
in the shadow, after desire
and its conclusion;
brevity,
infinity: the water is confused,
it falls thickly towards a still centre,
beauty is made and unmade
while I spy what remains of the world
through your last voice,
harsh and deep.
What is the cabal,
the melody, the bow
now that everything dies away
and in what falls, rolls and overturns:
soon no-one, past, periphery?