IN THIS LUMINOUS DELUGE OF SILENCE

sunshine filling the kitchen,
cutlery stung by the light’s cry,
clock ticking its quiet fiery rhythm by,
floor minutely digressing in its
sun-filled specks of tiles
with memories of bees,
trees and seas
sweeping on in the stare
of their own time,
in this luminous
deluge of silence
while my dog lays her muzzle
as ever on my thigh,
here, under the table
where I sense a dazzled stillness
telling much more than
I’m able to tell,
in this still fiercely untrimmed
staring springtime,
in this quiet deluge
of minutes and ages
I just feel light can
summon all stages
over which spreading,
in jests that never rest,
the bright chores of ghosts,
the clamor of bones,
the burning, hidden
heart of stones,
and the thronging sinews
of the sun-beaten marrow
of noon.