Late Summer

Borealis flood, and all of night, unleashed

at the eye’s diluvian hour. Our bone-

broken will, countering the flow

of stones within our blood: vertigo

from the helium heights

of language.

Tomorrow: a mountain road

Lined with gorse. Sunlight

in the fissures of rock. Lessness.

As if we could hold a single breath

to the limit breath.

There is no promised land.