In the plain of light       Unconscious irony imparts the sense; the unbodied hand writes on the wall in the plain of light at every juror’s sight; the face in the burden of plenty, bruised eyes closed against a world that seems, at the feast of form. How the sun, high-raised, transmutes unseens within the air to perspectival dust. Made ground of self stands where it must.         Changes, Days, Lives - titles and first lines