Something Lit Up Here

Something lit up here,(other
Wise the darkness is unpleasant--
Kind of rich, the soil in a cellar
And a dust that’s ever-present),

(And when the light turns up, so does
The heat—it isn’t wasted.) it can
Light the coast of Oregon
And, along the White Sea, the woman

Gathering stones, until the dark
Roads, clogged in the back country,
Are feebly lit, and then bright
With globes that shine on the debris,

That’s a good place to be, where even
Coal mines are discovery,
No black-lung miners, no riots,
No blows, no blood and thuggery,

Oh that air is good, it started
Blowing from the sea, and in
The morning everything was white
With frost, with shawls above the chin

We breathed what we had always wished
(Or been afraid) to breathe. (Oh please--
Might this) crackling frost give way
(If only in parentheses,

To start) to golden sunshine molten
In the lungs, so tundra plains
To Tokyo (and hooded eyes)
And sheets of rain and golden grains

(Yes, even in the room where shadow
Always nibbled at the blinds)
Light unwinds the senses, heats
The bones and clears out our minds.