Full moon illuminated large initial for letter M,
Appalachian Book of the Dead, 22 February 1997-
La luna piove, the moon rains down its antibiotic light
Over the sad, septic world,
Hieroglyphs on the lawn, supplicant whispers for the other side,
I am pure, I am pure, I am pure . . .
The soul is in the body as light is in the air,
Plotinus thought.
Well, I wouldn’t know about that, but
La luna piove, and shines out in every direction-
Under it all, disorder, above,
A handful of stars on one side, a handful on the other.
Whatever afflictions we have, we have them for good.
Such Egyptology in the wind, such raw brushstrokes,
Moon losing a bit from its left side at two o’clock.
Still, light mind-of-Godish,
silent deeps where seasons don’t exist.
Surely some splendor’s set to come forth,
Some last equation solved, declued and reclarified.
South wind and a long shine, a small-time paradise.
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