C

The glass of the window last night
Trapped a speck of shimmering light
Which moved a bit inside glossy molecules;
Found a corner and waited until sunrise.
Tonight a poem like a bullet lodged in my head,
Demanded I get up from bed, write it
And trained to enter everyday arenas.
It will salute God’s sun-thumb
By its designation, as it sets,
With the enormous confidence
Of tomorrow’s scripta manent.