The earliest light we know
is out there on the hill this evening, calling to us—
starlight is an ancient lilac, with a talent
for the fragile certainty:
there is a speck
of memory, then I was quiet.
What is true
from everlasting to everlasting:
I found a good place. Then I was quiet.
It’s sacrilege to imagine
how someone should or should not have
loved you, umpteenth time.