Awake, instanter       Awake, instanter, dead of night, silence, eyes wide in the dark. What word shook me? Slight upon the air the echo of its flight, muffled now. Stark, a contracted moon of meaning on the broken banks of cloud; salient edge and gulf ensilvered fine read like a line— the mind stares, gleaning what is wordlessly allowed. I am awake, for sure, within a room unsounded beyond a heart, a breath’s intake impounded— Awakening’s form, beyond recall: Cataracts of night’s deep fall.           A Lens to the Sun: titles and first lines