Revolution

When you’ve turned away
From the afternoon
To watch the evening
Exchange of creatures

And lights, nothing new,
Always new, the dance,
You might feel detached
Enough from your aches

And going concerns,
Which are nothing new,
Always vanishing—
House-finch in the eaves,

Distant dogs barking,
Gold and blue mountains,
The serious girl
Drawing a mushroom—

You might consider
How the dynamics
Of constant movements
Are what pause is, how

These words have meanings
We’d like to explain,
But we’ve forgotten
And are words again.