as in purpose; the purple of the hillside
enrolled me in its misery, mysterious mist
emanating.
When it was over the day
descended in the form of a star, ours,
which is to say the dark returned
which is to say a measure of darkness inter
posed between and among the sources
the lights twinkling against a moon.
This was a landscape longed for, lost.
Long as a verb—to increase in length
of days, of nights, of neither.
Still the purple stain, floral embellishment,
ingrains itself, inhabits banished gardens.
From Light Wind Light Light (Omnidawn, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Bin Ramke. Used with the permission of Omnidawn Publishing.