It was an autumn sky—on a windy day, I
saw eyes made of anxiety. You were like a mirror, sunshine when it rains, a day
for redemption. Holy and human. By fleece and favor. So with needs. So
unattainable. Night moths inside. Tender wishes. I’d yet to dream—tossing,
turning, one sacred thought. The
mishap—the discomfort—the contradictory feelings. Autumn was radiant, electric
landscapes, so many undulations. To hear one’s projections, to need with
desperation, some gift in the holy human. Favored and fevered, serene secrets,
casual concerns; to hear you sing, some giant in the hills, made of silver and
gold. I saw a human, ethical by intent, living religion in flesh. I hope times
have been good, in spite of difficulties, sailing and singing and sewn into
majesty; for these constitute existence, a fair moon, a radiant sunshine.
