What it takes to arrive and remain
been for most of a night, the slow rotation of beds
pulling the circling dawn up like a warm blanket to
gently wake and stir us from sleep’s deep sisterhood?
Whose eyes but the weary truck driver’s, the paper
delivery man, the earnest baker, the tardy philanderer
making his way along a line of broken white lies that
mark the lanes he rehearses before a westering light?
Yes, who, besides me, sees this fog-veiled moon slipping
impossibly beyond where the mountains surrender to the sea
all they fail to raise out of it, above the raintrodden meadow
where only refracted hues of wet prisms tread soft vapor now?
And for these moments we hold it together, our own, stories
intersecting only in beholding, only in consideration of what
it takes to arrive and remain at such imprecisions, the perfect
convergence of sleeplessness and a summoning of setting pearl.
January 27, 2013