Go then into the spare light of dawn,
Into the sparkling rime, from the long dream
Of yes and no, stand still as the falcon passes
Close behind and then in a rush of feathers
Embraces the crooked pole and its power line;
Go, believing in some destination, onto the shore
Where destination founders, where the smell
Of oil like the excrement of an army of great
Machines stifles breath, and all that is left
Is the desire that powered your dreams.
Go from the confusion of night, the grand
Opera of love and its pitiful leavings,
From the pale scream that announces
Entrance and exit, lungs expanding
Into the long legato of the last breath.
And from there into the loss which is your
Heritage, through the great insect chorus
Of hosanna into the house of your inheritance.
Brew a cup of tea, take it to the sunniest room,
And when God appears, demand an explanation.
The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.