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

 

 

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