here is an edge, cliff crevasse, vast abyss
in a hairline, spider-tracery on fresco of reality
stretch out your hand in trembling and wither not
–mystery of highest heaven–
touch the knife-edged crack, life in your hands,
see paint fleck off, peel away,
scenery sliced, fall flickering to the floor
And is it a cubicle with blank walls bland and bald?
No, beautiful bold bright horizon,
eggshell fallen to the ground,
the sun rising, life throbbing.