I draw the praise-lines
of a letter
alpha or omega
to honor light & air
which refuse to be drawn as, right now, they engineer
the east-borne career of three
white clouds across New
York October clear
illusion of blue
above named famous bulldogs
ochre, umber, stony,
glassy, linear.
Every day
wherever I am
whenever I look, I see
thanks to one great flame
The invisible presences it dims out
spiral on, anyhow.
It gives a point of view
as moving as I am,
not its point of view
but mine, the mine that is ours,
earthlight. Shadows describe
its distance from us,
until dark and dark’s equalities
when, one by one, come overhead,
the galaxies: flame and its reflections.
Here, the flame has tiny city echoes:
street lamps house lights
boat lights shop fronts neon
ads illuminated river bridges
shadowy pockets
while in my far dark woods
dark itself is stretching & reaching
odorous under the junipers,
earthdark.
