God: a curt question or curtain.
The call to prayer fading away.
May I request evening or more rain?
Doing laundry, getting new tires—
May I invest smartly, catch the later train?
Snow filling the margins, sun setting across the river.
As we rush north, everything is pulled back:
The snow, the day’s work, the curtain on its frame—
The Window Pane
(a version of Rene Char)
Pure torrents, the torture
The one you are waiting for, the face you are looking at
An insurgent’s face
The other one, the happy one, warming up next to the fire
Which of them is you?
I love, strange joiner, both rain and glass
Am torrent and torturer
Am rainstorm and light
The Ninth Planet
In the shadow cast by the end of time who will believe the earth was not merely a vast plain
Faith requires a law to assure clay’s obedience to gravity and light
Who wouldn’t believe that otherwise we would slingshot into space, oceans would pour
from the earth’s stark edges. The universe is the most of human of individuals—
Lowell never saw the proof of Pluto in his lifetime:
Observing the erratic wobble of Neptune’s orbit, he plotted diagrams and equations
and left instructions as to where in the night sky the wanderer would be found