METICULOUS ANSWER INSPIRED BY ARTIST AGNES MARTIN

My mind keeps moving.
The country is nearly at war
with satisfaction
or could be.
I want to set down my mind.
A miniature lullaby.
Watch the sloshing water, lost
list, crisscrossed waves, a glass pane.
One day shows me desire
to keep out excitement; the next
I could suck up all wonder.
Smoke ribs the sky. The sky
doesn’t stop.
My mind must stop.
I think of tomorrow or a problem
of God, the rumor
of danger. Another sip
of another dissent.
The bay breathes in
and out every six hours.
It summons abundance,
which must be bewilder
to lighten. Too much ending is happening
to the earth. I hunker
into days within days. Inward. In
my cottage, I watch interviews that riddle
her losses. How she leavened
to unhurried empire. I scribble
another parable at the edge
of my notebook. Everything is
until now. In the sounding
dim light, I look up
to an eagle as it cracks
clouds to a strewn line
and between.
Then the bird is hidden. The sky
touches all sides.
Details stop. Stopping
stops. I might see nothing, but
I am not lost. I have grown more
to some onetime seam
of wisdom.