Countenance

At dusk I start to see
endless combinations of letters,
even poetry, can’t free me,

won’t unlock the next level
like a golden key revealed
by the right incantation.

My soul magnifies the Lord

Mary sang like she could hang
the entire universe on that line—
catching some ancient breeze.

If I could freeze that moment
for later dissection
I might find her the microscope—

the light and lens through
which the whole world
bends.

But now I’m naming a body
of work, not just a chapter
with angelic hymns and wise men.

A completely new form
of thing that continually rings
as if it had no beginning

or end.
It’s hard to take this
sitting down, so I stand

to gain a different
point of view—one
I can almost see through.

When will this night
be torn asunder?
Come, Lightning,

Published by asaur