In one breath try to reckon
the distance of the universe
with the daily chain of the weather,
snow, as it is, the first white of winter,
and fact braids with future and faith.
What is: The sibilance of snow as it sifts,
as its weight shifts through branches and
glitter, oh radiant flash glimmer shine.
All stipple, the stars tonight as it clears,
and the sky, oh, there’s never enough of it here
in the canyon. The eyes try to disassemble
horizon and harvest more stars, more light.
Write me a poem about how the angels
disintegrate, write me an epic about endless loss.
Write me a letter that says, everywhere that I look
I am lifted up. I’m uplifted by luster, uplifted
by rabbitbrush, by apples simmering on the stove,
uplifted by gravity, distance, space,
all things unruly, given, unknown.
Here my hands. Here my eyes.
Here my praise. Here my voice.
Here my steady vessel. My hymn. My poem.