The way the sun peeks out from a continent
of cloud, a geyser of light that rams the sea
and breaks all meaning into knuckling diamonds,
he gave me full instructions re weather once he knew
what I needed to know. Dumb as a round square,
I sat there while he sped the car over green hills,
the bleating sheep too fat to be clouds, too warm
to be snow. We rode through a tunnel of rock,
blasted to give routeóback and forth each season,
light cloud cover over the sea. Always the clouds, even
at night. But the moon pushed the bloom
of the ivory in waves that rippled less than diamonds,
more like the glow of a spotlight we felt when we did
what we did, and the round moon entered and
took us in, like the sun at an angle like this he showed me,
and I believed him, even though he wore the evidence
of ceremony. But what's a band of hollow gold?
A ringless moon or a sun eaten by dark circles.
We saw the dark circles; we were the dark circles,
but who can see when the night is strung (between
his finger and thumb) and the sky just like that.
Her Red Hair Rises with the Wings of Insects
Wolsak and Wynn