Sang There

I saw one eye across the shadow
Traces of the meadow’s waters
I heard one wing collapse the Sun.
Ever after there were thunders

Beneath the mountain seven children
Among the children seven angels
All wise grace in moonlit presence
Hiding in the purest silence.

You could see the water
As the water’s lights were seeing
You, blind in fractions, held by others
Sound true the depth and hold your vigil

One of the doors is often a gun
The other a kind of undoing when done
I took the hand where there were none
And was taken when they shook me.

Down by the water, a runner frozen
There in a master’s figment
All around the edges and shore
Fingers of fog. A few frogs
Sing there.