Kowit #68

It’s usually the light that drives my moments of epiphany.
The river turns pink with sunset.
The sky has swallowed its full and grows cold, darker.

The line between them draws me in for one bright moment

when I understand the light, the river depths, the shallow sky.
The past compounds into a swallowable pill, poisons
adjudicated by the antidote of light, water, air:
elements don’t concern themselves with justice.

That brief line, that breadthless second-long length,

marks itself on our intent. We mean this, for this moment,
before we drive over the bridge, the river hides itself
and the sun sets, and the sky makes alms of air and light.