invisible must mean unseen

i have said something like this:
truth
is a coalescence of truths and
being is a unity

i believe this may be true
but i--

when i say "i"
i mean a portion
of existence
while
all existence is being. hello,
i was hoping
i might make your acquaintance.
you escaped me
while i slept.
you left traces of yourself
in the nonsense--

the ecology of truth
is of habits entraced
without the story
i dearly make. delightful, dear adjacency:
adjacent room, adjacent street,
door next to
that whose knob you turned.
hohf. ay. room full of what i could not hold
room with unspoken something
of a bursting sound that will not
a single word confirm

the air full of disturbances
my bowstring tongue has
lashed and hummed. this
does not suggest we do not
care, would not
enmesh--yet

imagine if
the air were not the invisible
part:

each arrow
leaves feathers falling softly
into invisible earth.

when you walk
i could see only how the air dances
faintly, faintly your life
pulses like waves starting upon
miles of open waters.

i will say this:
something feels so near
in each muscle of the air
of spring, yet

truth is such an invisible movement
that seeing it should be a blindness