These white stripes of day achieve
more than we could possibly hope for, with
curtains –thin movements– shielding the
Pure pleasure is illuminated by each
sequence of bright and shadow on the wall.
Think of this–
Light stands for nothing but itself!
Who can say that–
I read in today’s paper a woman got seven
years for killing someone by accident.
Now a flat formation of rain in the distance
threatens to slash our virtue.
Nothing is hopeless here in Rincon:
hills, palms, yellow, blue, green,
filtered through fern.
I can leave this room with its sensations and sillouettes.
I can walk the yard through the gate to enter my own devotions.