August 16, 2006

Imagine

living in a world in which

in the sky

the sun means love.

This is this heresy to which I rise

as if startled out of the dream-riddled

delusion of lesser things though

even here the rain

falls on the just and unjust

alike, and the First-day people

of wonder…enchantment, first things

unspoilt by the contamination of fall

now upon us … the blindness of age.

Close my eyes

to crawl back in to my sand crab

cave, hovel of imagination

where I am a convert

of the dew, an acolyte of morning

sun glistening in the needled lawn

(on sun days),

bats no longer darning sock-holes

of the sky. Morning star spread

like a mist across the dawn,

the light, pale metaphysic of belief.