Milk light from the blue, aging night sky.
Drink at last of its newness.
Milk light from the blue, aging night sky.
Drink at last of its newness.


The face,
the point of light,
the smoke

Two more days and the days will get longer.
Voice of someone else and the wilding of the mind.
Just a bit more light. I promise I’ll get stronger.
Voice of someone else and the wilding of the mind.

She’s left the inner garden.
Here, though, she slows, her smile
recalling old reversals and raising briefly the prospect of shade’s
shedding its clothes, and being morning again,
naked in the flowers.

