Equation Two

You will recall
the day the dead returned
                     to the village.
Name it now
the nebula of perfect
expulsion.

These fragments
of existence spin their
enclosing
web, unlock
the uncertainty of grace.
We are late.

On the third day
we will dance with the beer;
the vessel will
be prepared
for the corrupted descent
of power.

Radiant
in its bounded estate,
the spirit
knows itself
as the guide who moves to erase
her footsteps.

So once again
the dance negotiates
the property
of being
strange, that absolute desire
for falling.

The red roof tiles
slip into the morning fog
There is a red silence
                  all around us.
It will take years to learn
this coherent grammar.

The oriole has established
an evasive coherence,
     infinite, exact,
with its place, there where
the day seems set to honor
the bird's expressive deceit.

Logic always
fails that Carolina wren.
The propositional
exactitude
of a certain absence
draws fire upon its wings.

The bird knows itself a strict
proposal of faith, a ground
state that moves without
an absolute space.
Grammatical bird, attuned
to roots and implication.

Love is ancient
evidence, an instrument
constrained, jealous of its
utility,
in awe of its own death;
every name embraces it.
 

Jay Wright, "Equation Two" from Music’s Mask and Measure. Copyright © 2007 by Jay Wright.  Reprinted by permission of Jay Wright.
Source: Music's Mask and Measure (Flood Editions, 2007)