A More Radiant Complexity

Kevin Heaton

The moon’s sluice gate
is a phosphorescent tide pool
                                  of ambient radiance—
the piecemeal illuminator of neophyte stars
behind the night sky-pillow.

I look to the firmament beyond
a marshy parade ground of negligible bones.

                                                      A question—
a bass drone of belly heat
about hexagonal portals of light.
What source the static interplay
in great rift fissures, lightning
is scarcely older than oceans, dating
only prior to the slug.

                                        An entreaty for faith
beyond a cauldron of notions in a perfect
storm of revelatory vespers—essence
of sweet bay laurel—catharsis
                                                                    in the clouds.

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