light precept
cold grass waiting mold and dawn: buzzer again, window yell again: window lit: crisp warm over the bridge: winter over the frozen bridge slipping into a flat red Victorian borrowing books and a canceled dinner: snow glare drift over Christmas lights: turns and chance reflect and penetrate the bus window: they catch car lights under the busy street light: summer stabbed by bark dust under play equipment, separate their drunk friends—they are drunk—singing in four-square boxes cross-legged, their earliest shadowed part: no awareness of light, no light or building or space but the space collapsing and an arm raised motion: secreted away from all the light
war lit
photogenic bullet innocent in the body home and warm before Historic home in the capital building. beautiful jungle day. street lights house lights dim bomb after bomb, red and orange darkening night a degree. beautiful day on the plains. they watch the violet flare parachute softly through fireflies of tracer bullets, they sigh and weep. beautiful desert day. bright seeing in night vision goggles troll and ghoul his buddies, his seeing. beautiful day on the moon. past F-15s, the landing deck, a foreign sea blinks brightly a tradition of sink, the sea a filling sea. beautiful day. the sky opens closer to distant sources of light—not the yellow sun or white star—fly, and the ground closes.
michael rerick
michael rerick
