wooden chair
glass door
porcelain sink—
their outlines disappear
in the soft light
of my softening eyes—
their physicality holds me

drenched in sensate
the is-ness of objects
appear
emanate—haloed
by night light’s
silvery sliver of moon

low and behold:
space is not empty
like sonar
objects
ripple back
my palpable essence—
my body understands

I am an object too