Let There Be

Light

at the end

like a deer blind

and nothing doing in the hunt light

like a cataract

like a Cadillac, slow rise of light

like God’s hand

in the morning held over

against

your own

incineration

you can’t see

light

like a machine

kicking in

the light,

like a pneumatic press your hands caught in the light

and you can’t

take them

lit up like

a ghost’s tongue,

in the electrical socket

the light waits

just for you

so late into the light of itself

like an ingrown toenail

low

moan of light

last ply of ivory in the commerce of light

a whale’s penis bone

under the radio’s frequency, light like a soup,

heavy water,

light like a wafer that dissolves before you can get

a good taste

of the light

its

enumerations

dressing and undressing

all day

the light in front, you like a mirror

so naked

the light holding