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 mirage Compensate 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 transparent wings. The insects could not use them in the wind And so abandoned them. Why Hadn't the wings scattered? 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.
From My Mojave by Donald Revell. Copyright © 2003 by Donald Revell. Reprinted by permission of Alice James Books. All rights reserved.