in conversations with the light
A full cup carried from the well.
This great eventual heyday
and the apse in the tiger’s horn
such hopes of reconciling heaven–
grown raw. For a moment,
Terror erodes its own events,
Blur of the world is red smear on white page,
to float the ear in beauty
to feed the mind of an incoming nightmare
Faded in face of apparent reality–
the passage from sleep to day again.
Some float off on chocolate bars
some time bye and bye
