The Day of the Impossible Fire that Inhabits Memory

Everywhere in the world is right now right

Here on this shore of the river of birth

Where I stand solemn in the zeal of the wind

Listening to the finest of all whispers in a fold

Of night's linen an almost inaudible stirring
Amid the busy quills of angels writing personal

Prose the pause the glance that holds the world
In a moment and makes my eyes breathe more
Anxiously this desire henceforth to be called
Something new and hyphenated is only the first

Amusing struggle with the well-intended omens
Of disaster the laudable misadventures

Of many other things unfolding at length
In this the shortest of earth's brief instants