Inside of a Plum

Laundry day today—

in clean clothes I see this station  

again, as if fresh. 

Yogurt for breakfast. 

I wish for more raspberries,

and for truth—Beauty. 

Not very eager—

the world to reveal itself.

A lost fawn blinking. 

Not truth—but terror. 

What could I say of angels? 

What needs to be saved? 

Mist-drunk, moon dizzy— 

autumn night, please permit me 

your cold transcendence.