It does seem that something
holds up the sun;
some something in requiem
and in renascence and in religion, too,
i think.
It doesn’t seem otherwise;
the suns i’ve seen on this shore,
that moorland, that vespered garden—
that great intrusive star
meant nothing at all itself.
It does seem that some billion years ago
or another arithmetic estimation
It collapsed into being
as immaculate
energy.
It doesn’t seem otherwise
and by all i may observe
It is directionless—
by wavelength, by spectral truth
all It does is rise.
we the people set
and sorrow and slumber.