My death as sum—three
to voice in line and
worse, smoked stones awaiting,
abating, the ingrain curse.
No one, echo, eternal, inert.
I’m amazed at the way she carries
angling ahead, temporally,
saying so much. And how I lay;
in wonder; empowered—marching mobile
in the pleasing empty lamplight,
encompassing—stacked down places—
lines of lights,
satisfied within a distillation
of quiet memories.
An only recalled farmland,
of Northern arable homesoil,
granulated, phantomed light
drenching, permissive of emission, byway
ray, cathode sting—some
fieldside grown eyes, concretized,
Acuity and detail,
escaping vapor, an image
sought before respite; Manifold: