Light

54 THE MINNESOTA REVIEW DON GORDON LIGHT I am sitting on a hill in my dotage, Unwilling to go Until I see the light of a star That has not begun to travel From an imaginary point in my head Or perhaps a burst of asteroids In the future of space. Born in the galaxy of despair, It will come without a name Unless it is the star of compassion, Or tenderness, One beast to another. It has to fall a timeless distance: We need aeons to prepare for it After this savage childhood. The hostile eye, unable to sustain That incandescence, Will close in the dark and the dying Of the angry mind. It will be in us and around us Like air and water, Like a great calm, Like the embrace Of the father and mother of the sun. ...