From 6.00 to 6.45 A.M.
after a painting by Ross Bleckner
the moon coming down
how morning looks from a day’s wrong end
If I really died, you said,
I’m sure you’d find some brilliance in it
fingertips pressed to shut eyelids
I have the dreams, but I don’t make them
in this prologue to a trillion particles
we are shadowless as we imagined
peering toward a layer of universe behind the stars,
the breathing twilight just a backdrop,
a curtain to be lifted
