In evening light's splayed radiance,
in a field of scrub and vines hedging a river,
a boy found a black snake sunning itself.

It should be a denial, this morning,
the way winter’s fallen across those hills so clearly

But Christ returned, Thomas traced a finger through the gash
and knew faith and the world conspired against him.

When I see a man
in a dress shirt, I want
to walk up behind him,

I am we: space the gift,
a white sprit of motion—

Is belief, like love, first a touch, a feeling,
an inclination toward rightness?
But I have known—known—myself right so

                                       Why not---!

          The black energy of that time.
We shared

The world is not aweather
for that moment. My brother
is painting a Sunday picture

Now only one thing is bright enough
to cast a shadow—Venus.

You can take my hand
anywhere. Tonight,
let it be the story of smoke