Many of the Mysteries
Many of the mysteries start in the evening.
For some examples, we call it contemporary
pinned upon an ample infinity
from any of the stars
while the processes with premonitions explore
spun hours to those planets hidden beyond sight.
Not unlike customs of the country’s centuries when
people knew how to both plant and grow garden
vegetables. Gourds like squash
like the brittle rattles
that attended, brought dark rains and prophecies
before prediction records of scientific almanacs.
So Sunday mornings. Blue morning; scored over
with rituals of blackness, burnt edges of breakfast
and some inked words forming pages
of a good novel
of imagined scenes as the thermal clouds betray
coldness and cease in weight down below the mist.