from THE DAYLIGHT SECTIONS (75)

warmth rises to the level of an eyelash
to the level of the eaves and to the level
of a mapdot found alongside choices
to embrace a thought

vines trace themselves
against dark brick
and draw attention to the chimney skin
as a trickle of pale smoke

lifts into precipitating darkness
as repetitive as closed eyes
what becomes most sweet
is light along the margins

of its absence
light that hurts the eyes
in morning light
that interrupts young sleep