The here-and-now finds vigil transfiguring
yet ignorant of your beauty.
Any one of us, given a certain light,
shall make and be immortal:
streets of Jerusalem, seraphs the passers-by,
and other extras, artisans per diem,
imperative in hindsight
a brief blessing.
I cannot tell how we might be otherwise
drawn to the things occluded, manifold,
the measureless that stands
even so depleted
in the faint rasp of dry autumnal flowers.