Imperative

.

Live into a day’s

tenderness:

its fullness

is the world.

.

The lake

blinks at the sky

holding the sun’s yolk

in her center.

.

She our earth yields

an owl’s call

against absence, allows

sweetbriar

on a grave.

.

By day the moon

refills itself with light

Be like that,

enough for yourself.

.

Substance, will:

Speak not of morning

.

But set a blue bowl

Of wet apples

On the plain brown table

of your heart.