How all things shatter, fall away, and break.
In this time of my great happiness I pass
And repass the gates of the Holy Ghost

Something hopeful is about to happen,
the shepherd informed. The last train

There is no death in the sun. I know it will look far otherwise

The animals were captivated.
We want the soil, they said.

Now life shall flow around me, colorful,
sensitive, unmeaning. This emptiness

Yes, you and I will meet someday
in the tourist section of the astral plane. We’ll float
like heavenly barges and spit

My grandfather told me I
was one of the oldest living creatures.

To the lightning bolt, burdened
Interpreter of the quick, bright
Scratch.

The light is a grinder of knives jangling his bells
For seven in the morning. He is all the steeples
In the town calling for whatever this day must be new made.