I remember the tone the sunlight made reflecting as it did
that first breath of late night morning air
the feeling that here was anywhere and anywhere was kind
plumes of smoke funnel overland and meet us there
as though our late night tales joined to feed our breathing
and each breath kept golden remnants of a fireside tale inside
safe but boundless
to hang like bubbles over us with each completed breath
not born or dying, but reassembling the very air
a ceiling to our meaning, or spring for new sounds to bound from
no essential measure of beginning or belief
no escape and no relief, but safe
safe as shapeless
shapeless on a turning wheel of casting possibilities that change the wheel
the tick becomes imagined and steel to silk.
I remember the tone the sunlight made
and each time it comes to visit I remember
and taste and scent, and sense released from sense
the sense of everything as golden and remembered even as it slips into the course of these events
and this my friend is home
right here and in this tone of sun and fire and form
where listening is a birth each time and feeling creeps to embers
notes suggest in emblems reminiscent of a nascent form of wealth
from long before gold could be held
when cold was felt
and breath was celebrated for that very rearrangement of the air
which placed us, here.
