Oppen to Oppen

Oppen to Oppen

Had it been
water or something
permeating the stone,
which cracked
its own weight,
jerks right, about
face
toward faces

light and the marrow
which more solid
ground appeared
air on the way,
back from knowing
it had to be spring
in the dew,
hung by our eyes

or a momentary ghost
meant it wasn’t
a real abstract
contemplation,
rather incandescent
for a fixture
or furtive gasp;
those words.