~ after René Magritte, “L’empire des lumières” (“Empire of Light”)
A single lamp
burns in the street
The sky’s prism unrolls
handfuls of cigarette papers
and lights turn on
in the upstairs windows
In the middle of the day you hear
night’s trapezoid approaching
You want a flannel gown cut
out of pearl iridescence
A bowl of chopped greens
laced with milky cashews
A drink recalling the taste
of ice and summer peaches
before night turns you into
something other than yourself
and the dark green border over-
takes the tree standing on one leg
In response to Via Negativa: Seer.