the night horizon
grass, nettle, the color of gas-lantern light
no, it's the grass brick stone with the black clear
behind it. it's the black of no thing
the top of the tree in shadow and moving more. lit wall.
webs. breath steams. a line of web was shining between
me and the lamp. moth doing something on the raspberry
leaf, wings blurred
spider went up between two stars in the dipper's handle
lying on my back under the stars, roof corner and edge,
and then the distance
dans le detail
outer space. suddenly i had seen it. i felt myself in face
of it. it was because i was on my back but as if upright
looking out. i mean i was on the galactic plane, the
stars were on my horizon. i felt i could step out and walk
toward them. they were there, places. the extent of
space between me and them was there. i saw how far i could
see
it was a moment of shrinking back and at the same time
holding still, like holding a frame while what's's in the
frame ... quails. i saw it is always daylight out there.
and that night is the window on it, a curtain removed
what i was marveling at was just the understanding that
the axis of space is turned at night, vertical and horizontal
are reversed. being held onto earth by the back or feet
then i remembered the speed of light, which is to say that
looking so far is looking upstream, as if the sight line to
any star is a time axis. then being in shells of times,
being able to see to and through many times at once
i've never succeeded in telling anyone, yet, what it was
i saw. but months later i came on something'd read in
vaughan and thought a metaphor. i saw eternity the other
night, like a great ring. of pure and endless light
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