“That I Saw This Latter Night”
That I saw this latter night
Blanketed in queues and styles when I was young; I thought
I’d die—nor wise nor foolish, wished I could—but I was caught
In swollen updrafts, yesterdays where nettled, wind-torn birds took flight.
Surprised, emerging sunlit days led me to believe I’d be
Raised above the clouds to see the many haloed patterns in yellowed suns,
Bluest moons, lightning sapphired mists in cumuli, the staggered sums
Of every dust-born shooting star that ever paused to think on me.
In prolixity, beginnings, upraised, I bore the finite misappointed days,
Integers of nights, withstood the stench of dawns and dusks, and more rains
Than I could reckon, read, or hear in all that thunder. I drained
my open wounds, applied the ointment to ease the growing pains
Those many mighty nights enclosed, dreaming of more than I could pay
For, blessings both from suns and moons—the very breath I drew—to cast
The bones of furtive futures through to ever-present pasts.