I walk the narrow pedestrian passage

illumined so its girdered ribs show

like names on a ledger. Every step

sudden and trochaic — the beginning

of facts. Of being here.
I look up and see the moon

is brandishing its ghosts. What is

here and not here. What is

a face in the sky. What breaks

the shape of the known and obvious.
If I could say it, I would say

"I was broken and I took him in."

I would ask, "Do you trust me?"

I would point to the landscape.