Why this is what surrounds me

I’ve
          held too                            many

    objects.       Too, of what breathes.        Too, what has let me go, stated
      calluses, causational function,

      —were too deliberate in my obsessive devotional

        embracing. This portrait         stares into

    my pensive open-eyed       meditation. With wonder, residue

                hangs behind my paused recollection, waiting
      to fit against what’s used to
            devote myself

    with hoping toward accepted emblems of why my silent self no longer
    can open within the language of salient interpretations.