A POEM FOR THE REVIEWER OF A DIFFERENT MERCY

Which hangs in the sky:
oh veil, oh curtain, shroud
something stretched infinitely far
above here.
                         And falling from
so high it will take forever
as that light turns
down as the sun rises
white behind now clear grey
clouds & the trees are clear
but their outlines faded
into wet twigs
                             scatter like the mud
dry wormcasts between dark grass
dead leaves, the litter
ing refuse
                     but notice
the light shines into each
John Wilkinson
                                  maybe on the surface
discrete beads of luminescence toss
d briefly.