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