[The sun going down was saluted]

The sun going down was saluted 
by the night in the hands of silence 
in the house or a conversation that 

you hear pointing whichever way 
that you may approach while the 
moon torched the evening, pouring 

its cold, moist rays down through 
the second heaven onto an angelic 
solstice; a universal downstairs, 

conveying indisputable somethings
out of nothings, so that, jelly-legged,
we stammer & stumble in search of

an unreachable light that is at the end 
of a tunnel mocking us like a mystical
figure with a false sense of affection. 

The night sky is the back of my mind
(tenebrae et lux sibi succedunt invicem): 
double hemisphere of light within my 

every orifice like every snowflake 
seeking a microscope as I snuggle to 
the Hubble the way that invisible poems 

blow into me from someplace 
the way the evening sun eavesdrops 
on the icy horizon.