by Donald Revell

    Sha-

    Dow，

    As of

    A meteor

    At mid-

    Day： it goes

    From there.

    A perfect circle falls

    Onto white imperfections.

    （Consider the black road，

    How it seems white the entire

    Length of a sunshine day.）

    Or I could say

    Shadows and mirage¹

    Compensate² the world，

    Completing its changes

    With no change.

    In the morning after a storm，

    We used brooms. Out front，

    There was broken glass to collect.

    In the backyard， the sand

    Was covered with transparent³ wings.

    The insects could not use them in the wind

    And so abandoned them. Why

    Hadn't the wings scattered⁴？ Why

    Did they lie so stilly where they'd dropped？

    It can only be the wind passed through them.

    Jealous lover，

    Your desire

    Passes the same way.

    And jealous earth，

    There is a shadow you cannot keep

    To yourself alone.

    At midday，

    My soul wants only to go

    The black road which is the white road.

    I'm not needed

    Like wings in a storm，

    And God is the storm.

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