The Fury Of Sunrises

 Darkness 
as black as your eyelid, 
poketricks of stars, 
the yellow mouth, 
the smell of a stranger, 
dawn coming up, 
dark blue, 
no stars, 
the smell of a love, 
warmer now 
as authenic as soap, 
wave after wave 
of lightness 
and the birds in their chains 
going mad with throat noises, 
the birds in their tracks 
yelling into their cheeks like clowns, 
lighter, lighter, 
the stars gone, 
the trees appearing in their green hoods, 
the house appearing across the way, 
the road and its sad macadam, 
the rock walls losing their cotton, 
lighter, lighter, 
letting the dog out and seeing 
fog lift by her legs, 
a gauze dance, 
lighter, lighter, 
yellow, blue at the tops of trees, 
more God, more God everywhere, 
lighter, lighter, 
more world everywhere, 
sheets bent back for people, 
the strange heads of love 
and breakfast, 
that sacrament, 
lighter, yellower, 
like the yolk of eggs, 
the flies gathering at the windowpane, 
the dog inside whining for good 
and the day commencing, 
not to die, not to die, 
as in the last day breaking, 
a final day digesting itself, 
lighter, lighter, 
the endless colors, 
the same old trees stepping toward me, 
the rock unpacking its crevices, 
breakfast like a dream 
and the whole day to live through, 
steadfast, deep, interior.
 
After the death, 
after the black of black, 
the lightness,—
not to die, not to die— 
that God begot.

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