I awake to like

to light on grass, the ungoverned sheen of grass lit
out this window the day is

gorgeous. The day is thrilling in the good old sense of that word
when the world sat by the fire. The fire is

raging, has raged, was raging.

*

I am alive today, yes alive not being alive

being with the lost ones and the living lost within the lost hours
lost faces lost who find

tendrils of smoke and shoots bursting forth in rain, from rage
raining wavering bursting sight

this way and that plume this day
that day. Where was I?


 --from 'On Prayer Rugs and a Small History of Portraiture';
    Peter Gizzi (2011)