East-facing Windows

this morning our bed’s ablaze
in wanton light
the sun hammers our windows

light-brimmed celestial zero
wide and open

unrestrained by nada
a silent something


even seas are more miniscule
than this dawning wave immense and single
which starts the day— a silent gong

no thought breaks its breakers
no idea surfs its spilling silver splinters
no theorems curse its curls and crests
no thesis trips its liquid sprinters

light alone
our tireless maker
and natural neutral

Jim Culleny

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