RADIATION SONG

Each morning—into these poor 

but enormous moments
before 

and 
still fresh-
ly after—all language 

has been tenderly
humiliated by slumber—let me pour easy

as soft light

into every corner—
of the shabby 
room up above the one in which Kate
and Lucy lie sleeping;

content—to be there 
and know that

by looking upon each stick
of furniture— 

I alone 

am allowing 
things—to be what they are.

And that

is power 
enough—for right now

and heat
enough—for later.