Steven Schroeder | real presence
Full moon rises from the lake, vaults a line
of buildings lying low, climbs to the top
of swaying trees, over clouds flowing east,
streams through the window facing south, eddies,
rising, around my ankles. This must be
more than the reflection of a dying
star. It must be what the flicker circling
a tree was dancing when I came upon
it early this morning – that and the eyes
of scattered friends seeing the world holy
when we look up now from shards we, shattered,
have been dwelling on as long as we can
remember. Yes, that light. Take it. Drink it,
all, as long as we remember, wholly.
Chicago
August 2020
