Surprised

Apex, high anchor
of an April sky mishandled
so to splash the night, sans moonlight

upon us freely to the lees -
well never see, listing

in frog pause, steep Chablis
of Narcissus sleeping nearly

how our wonder is undone, unravels
aimlessly
how we've lost

you, locating Leo.
Or one said, "Ride
the dipper. It's nothing,"

and then above the racket
of the ratchets clacking
under our ascending car, peak

of that propelling climb
"You're gonna die."
But didn't.

But done before we knew it. And hard
on the heels of mesh and meld
weld personal
a cooling song

of all things wants apres

delirium
her rudimentary handle on
the far light, its libation.

Us in Everything

What to make of light
is issue

against the nay-
-sayers, turners-away
but for them at length

who swim too in its puzzlement

raising their glasses
into its assurances, modest vocabulary

of qualities in and around and upon
definities of objects and ethers, clarities

of isolation

but of itself
what is it, despite our successes

aslant here in the tulips, there
in the white flash blindness

commencing and concluding the opened
atom's invitation? Some simple telling

image drowns
in any human eye for it, a smile's
infusion, eddies of pollen
on the windshield

signals the singular singing again
of the invisible making us see and seen.