the day trades
for a handful of grains,
for a bouquet of flowers
gathered by a child,
watching the flagrant cities
that stalk our disquiet—
for even great men
fail to explain
why the horizon
has no frontier,
why a grain of light cracks
every masked layer?
day trades, grain by grain,
each second resists or breaks—
but we are water and air,
fire and dreams—
light enters like rain
when we least suspect it.
