So. I had each day
To draw from the hum
Of foreground and back
At least one pseudonym
Not yet under
Obligation to assist
In these what were they
Called developments.
Beginning in other
Words to concede the way
Pink clouds stop
Fielding the ambitions
Dawn imposed on them.
I was lucky enough
To rent an impossible
Uninhabitable box
That even unopened
Allowed me to pursue
The faintest consolation,
Sunlight coming from
A closet, thin glow
At the edges of its door,
Laughter of the child
Downstairs or outside
Coming home as one
So desperately frequently
Is wont to do.
As for your question,
No, it’s still a dream
From here, lying across
What earth sends up
Every other hour
From coverts undetectable
To the clothed eye.
Yet somehow here
Like the magic in habit
Or affections renewed
Deep in the bass line
That gets so much
Closer to what it refuses
To name the more it avoids
Explicit mention.
I mean a sound full
Of knowing in advance
The everydayification of life,
Its emotional workclothes,
A jetlagged labor
Stumbling from the gate
With the gifts and thefts
That are its brothers
Playing at being
Real. And having gotten
To their apt destination
The royal stillness of
These misplaced things
Sets up steady
Evidence of former motion—
They got here somehow
Through a parable
tension in the air.
Then one note more
A complaint from a string
Backed suddenly by
Others, all of them,
The world as companion
To joy, and anything else
That should but doesn’t
Arrive, the bulk of a ruin
Plowing through dusk
As if in downiness.
That end of day
When pink is understood
Both to be and to have
Come back, like laughing
At ambition. An un-
Controlled burn. Gardens
Specializing in the half
Lives of assurances.
And the dust that passes
For benign or tinted air
But is much less
Pattern than mask.
Dawn too. They aren’t
So far from each other
Harmony’s impossible.
In the long view
They even appear to meet
In a coloration, those parts
Of the spectrum that can
Temporarily enrage
With order then submit
Peacefully to it. As for
Your other question:
It’s mostly sirens
That form what
The accompaniment is.