Cow Shed Window on Meadow

Whatever waves pass through, whatever
Lengths of waves are passing, the passage
Suggests an emptiness given permission

When there is no emptiness, only more
Or less interference changing the shapes
Of the waves in passing, the thinnest

Atmosphere refusing a few to continue,
Reflecting them back or backhanding them
As sharply as any rebuke from one’s own

Parent or priest of one’s native religion.
Dusty bottles lined on sunny windowsills,
Their various dim tints the whole reason

To have emptied and so arranged them,
Relieved of any messages in them, only
Bearing brand names molded into them,

“As a kind of proof of their own emptiness,
Leaving the sunbeams to shine through them,”
Subjecting the light to myriad detours

And refractions, some with safe passage,
Some sharp reflections. The messages,
Maybe, were neither removed nor in them.

Them. The minor ways they shift the waves
And catch at an awareness. They’re all
That says—Go ahead. Stare. All your days.