A Field of Dust Covers the Star

​A field of dust covers the star,
A man hobbles upon a road,
A crowd chants, a mouse
Escapes a field being mowed,

Galaxies twine themselves
Along the filaments of dark matter,
A light shines in the barn,
At the top of three rungs of the ladder,

It is a city, in each apartment
Lives are being lived, the car,
The nation and its hills, the soul,
The snow and the guitar,

The streetlamps, the snow,
Hour after hour, until
Lines of type stream in your chest,
Not merely fanciful,

The light of lights,
The secret of every molecule,
Silence, you watch the snow fall,
As you stand in the vestibule.