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Poetry

You must not say I saw the sunrise. In bed
past the time of the rippling

light, lying in piles

of sheets, dreaming what was dearest,
the charm of a word

waking me with a grid that’s never

as occupied as worry and hours. What if undone
my mind is resting the burdens

of need? Eight times the repeat of desire

and it feels right as a blue and a pencil. You must not
say I structure the line as a range

of mountains, a luminous body

of sky, and the negative sky unbroken
to prayer. You must not interfere and godspeed the alternate

ways the empty so thoroughly means.

 


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