From ECHO

misunderstood as a measure of distance. It
takes no time in that sense, repeats nothing,
figures the shape of the flames. Gesticulate.

a failure of translation. In sleep the language
he spoke was one he didn't know. Waking it
sounded the same. Waiting there it seemed a
succession of names, a level field of things in
constant motion, exchanging identities.

neither followed nor following. Two are there as
she counts to one, to one and one then three five
eight defining the spiral, to double sevens to
begin, to instauredness. Left arm and right arm and
the figures like the fire. There must be a
different metric, a gesture and that's all, this
this and so on, concomitance, like writing but
it's not writing, the pieces actually are.

Michael Palmer, from Codes Appearing: Poems 1979-88