NEARING It makes anything seem possible, Christ. It makes sunlight a finch's tweet, and it says the bath looks upon the bay. It harbors a child, who so calmly asks for the angel of letting, in the night before your voice was born. And then in the morning your voice is a river, and your face is a river, and there's nowhere to turn. I look at your sunlight, all day long. I saith at your ghost, and am surprised. Take, given.