On Method -- Mary Margaret Sloan

To this aspect of a land observed, the roughly finished blank,
a blue sheet of rock falling before sense, add to that
an insignificant effect emotion buries
where it dies, a substance whose nature consists in thinking

with a will, a fuse; rely upon the familiar
bright and brighter and so on through the scale
with no need of place, a range merely
storming surfaces, unlimited division, unbroken ground.
In a chromosphere, our language of colors innumerable,

here we are. We are here, exiled to our native land
between the edges of the visible, far from figured prominences. .
Wish to be a stone, or close the door, please, said the guide;
how to look involves a method of looking.