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 breaths intake
Awakenings form, beyond recall:
Cataracts of nights deep fall.
Lens to the Sun: titles and first lines