The Day

It’s amazing

the day is still here

like lightning on an open field,

terra firma and transient

swimming in variation,

fresh as when man first broke

like the crocus all over the earth.

From a train, we saw cows

strung out on a hill

at differing heights,

one sex, one herd,

replicas in hierarchy —

the sun had turned

them noonday bright.

They were child’s daubs in a book

I read before I could read.

They fly by like a train window:

flash-in-the-pan moments

of the Great Day,

the dies illa,

when we lived momently

together forever

in love with our nature —

as if in the end,

in the marriage with nothingness,

we could ever escape

being absolutely safe.