Morandi

Stand here. Now listen to
the light. For what is
material can be felt first
as sound. Or
as six or eight
vases, jars, dishes.
White, bone, ivory, brown
on a table with margins.
Or then as light.
Then the rare permission
of blue.
A line-up, including the generic
exiting a thin envelope
of space. It accumulates.
Regroups as if rethought
in the forum of time
as four or six vases
that cast shadows.
A fulcrum
using light as force
that might move us
to an interior’s gravity.
The small music
left from a sky once on fire.
As if time in columns has been
collared here.