The sun deploys its shadows
and things grow in the dark too.
Leaves arch over everything
they are so democratic
to us our viewer in a world of secrets
in a world of navigable
foreshortening emotional registers.
In the park, breeze-shaken
wrappers drift outward.
The sand here seems coliseum-like
it is so contesting
just plain old.
Who can we turn toward
walking the hills' unbridling shoulders
breathless far from the story?
The day blooms in its self-knowledge.
It's that simple when we ask about faith.
How can I answer
not to inhibit
any single point in this ray?
Out of this house and out into the day
things come to focus
silver-tipped antennae tweak the blue
and sheets of rainwater
at the foot of the statehouse.
Something is something
when the administration
of money flows backward.
In this word time seems a trip,
come back, little sheen of products
in rows behind glass.
We went to the store and why not
we go to the moon
jeweled box on a shelf.
In summer we open and opening
we wander and
before we were happy
we were unhappy.
Such is the dialectical
awakening everyone
is hankering to embrace.
When the TV's on
the faces in the stands echo
and bounce far into the field.
The hopes and suspense
so often submarine
made plain as a runner rounding 2nd.
There is reason to watch
unlike the blinking reflection
in a darkened window glass.
We find purpose
in the game and together,
this crucial passage given flight
when detail disappears into a crowd
that too quickly invested
and then discarded power.
It's getting dark
indigo setting on the glass
just sitting there. Reminding us
days gallop into grass rushing wind
into miles of cable.
When the pistons call,
when I was a wedge of sun
over steel mills,
when I asked what happened
I meant what happened to us?