Century

You sit with what’s more than a thing,
a godly ache coming
like the last rainfall.

Even when seeing, you forge what’s left
with what’s been here and gone.

Rightness isn’t part of your language.
They say the best way to tell right from wrong
is never to care which is worse.

I’ve never known someone
who aches like the stretch of road
to be discovered
at the end of one’s life.

Dust is wakeful
like light     pressing on the eyes.

Light presses on you silent,
careful seducer.