I
A nomad roaming
the starlit halls
of evening,
in a cold sweat
from some early tantrum
of light,
it bolts toward
the glow of a dashing
blue planet,
ancient, glacial,
always in a lather,
to blaze its loop
through the pastures
of the Sun.
A rumor at first
on a thousand
glass lips,
it passes
like winter
from land to land,
stretching a long arm
around the shivers
of the night,
signing the blue
petition of each day
with its haste.
II
Dropped out of nothing,
it will return
to nothing,
but, in between,
toast the miracle waters
of Earth:
the long sermon
of her deserts,
the green wings
of her jungles,
the pink moths
of her cities
trembling
along the hilltops,
the thick fungus
of her buildings,
the worn brown corduroy
of her farms,
III
A waltzing iceberg
large as life,
it arrives with a shout
and will go
with a whisper,
vanish from
the fragrant isolation
of our skies,
tugged away
by a grip beyond plea,
beyond mourning,
as if it heard news
from a far country.
It will leave with its cold
gemlike pith,
a moment’s gorgeous visitor,
fading.