the search is a function of the truth.

Let me look up at Rilke’s stars, as they shoot across Chagall’s roof tops.

Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over the Rhône

There’s a sparrow on the porch, under rain,
The Planets fill the room, from evening pink
until three. Two violins flying, fingers twinkling
piano keys, like shattered glass blades, on black skies,

One billion trillion diamonds, for the eye to see

Give me the lightness of Jupiter, to tread out of past, into present
like th…