the moon in the gallery seat and
the wave peaks taking on
pricey shades,
red and orange tint against mud
browned blacks,
forty thousand cathedral peaks.
The effort,
collecting the light
out of key with enough patience
to wait for some kind of tune up session,
is on par with the glass sliver moon silence
and lying on my stomach,
nose to a swells touch
at the river edge
sunset compresses to pixels and spots and sight
without sound and sound without taste
touches down in flecks of water licked
star shine and open flame
on moon face. Somewhere on Earth
this may all be happening in space.
The intro kaleids.
