time now, sallow light
on the spring/winter border
has been blanching all those
photos hung too close
to the window.
The scene might read
as tragic to the momentary
witness, but
in the relentless eternity
of now, to temper
is a kindness;
you can look at the past
as if through stained
cathedral glass—that is,
without wincing
at all the details, or facing-
off with facts.
