Maybe it simplifies,
makes the complex plain,
does away with surprise
or diagnoses pain.
It
could be all of these.
It could be something else–
shedding an old disease ,
ridding a rabid self.
Habitual hope persists,
bursting into light .
Socrates rubs his wrists.
The Delian ship's in sight.
What cause is there to grieve
for hemlock or for gall
if subtle fingers heave
aside the garden wall?
But father you're not wise
and I must disallow
what contradicts my eyes
or turns from here and now.
These burning blades of ice
pointing to the sill
speak of a paradise
forged by human will .
Jane Mayhall
SUNLIGHT ON FIRE ESCAPES
They are delicate ladders , Feininger shadows;
fire escapes lose, in sunlight, heavier densities.
Windows look, by contrast, too intentional, metal
