Diffusion between lamps
is the pupil’s mortal birth
with this day I wear mourning
placing a slight cracked pot on the ledge.
Revelation is trackless in the bottom of my voice;
it denies there is another voice,
saying the gods are stealth and displaced,
recreating an invisible reality
protecting trees in provided shade
and widowhood in a single stroke
when fields alight night.
There’s a pernicious
intercourse of angels,
night and blood in their vessels,
a tribute glaring on the margins
as trees alight night fields
providing intense subsurface.