Wednesday, March 17, 2021


It is still difficult to find 
a word for this 

blankness—a pond 
without reflections, 

a guiltless sadness, 

But for now, 
we take solace 

in the grandeur of fact—
in the logic 

that even the lack
of imagination 

must itself 
have been imagined—

if only by one 
who has long since 

departed, some archangel 
of the night, 

that old star, 
once ablaze, 

now dwindled to invisible, 
but still radiant 

and hanging
above the innocent,

who reverently call these   
the long silent days.