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.
The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.