#as light

At night the old Russian farmer plows once more

the row of barley before whispering goodnight,

spokonoy nochi, to the tomato plant tilting liltingly

in the plot beside his cabin. & so it goes. This day

dims its shining to a simmer that simmers again

into the cool paste of dark. I am waiting to die

every day. It is okay. You are too. When it comes

I will not be ready. I am learning instead, a little bit

better, how to live. Come sunlight, the old Russian

wakes & whispers good morning through the small

crack of window. Dobroe utro, he murmurs toward

the plant, & the plant bows one near-purple & bulbous

tomato as if to greet him. It goes on like this, you

know. The greeting & the singing. Your lips pressed

against the cold. The finely-tuned harp the spider

plays beneath the surface. The people, & how they

came, & how you did not know what to say. Still

don’t. So each morning you woke & spoke soft

to the easy listener that is the wall. & took photos

of light but did not know who to share them

with. Never knew what to make of the way this,

all of this, will go on without you. If it comforts

or if it harms. The old Russian farmer breaks

for lunch & holds the strawberry in his mouth

just a second longer each day. He holds it for hours

now. A lunch spent marinating his tongue in fruit.

He has earned it, but does not need to say this

to himself. As you might. As I most surely would.

He only sits in the high light of noon & makes

a kind of wine out of the inside of his mouth.

& smiles. Nods. Becomes, for a time, as close

to earth as God. Which is to say, so close to earth

he transcends it & allows himself to remake

the universe, over & over again, all of creation,

until the story goes that the moon rises & he knows

her name & says hello & the tomato plant beside

the cabin is the brother he lost in the war & each

strawberry, well, something about love, yes? Good

morning. The day is a memory we journey through

until we learn to call it home. In whatever language.

However long it takes. The people are here & we all

will go a little crazy. It happens. But this world

is good to us. I nod to the sky & it responds with

rain. I miss your kiss but find an old one you gave

trapped on the inside of my eyelid. I close my eyes

at night & somehow, for no reason, all these

pictures come to life. Sometimes they scare me.

That’s okay. I wake & everything is changed without

my permission. How beautiful. Someone else calling

all these shots. & then I bend my head to the side,

confused, at times, by beauty. I once thought all good

things must end. But this doesn’t. It goes on & on. & so I

was wrong. Nothing dies. It comes back as the old farmer,

the plant beside the cabin, the moon arcing at night

between the rough map of the stars, the fruit held in

the mouth, & yes, & yes, & yes. It comes back as light.

· devin kelly ·

Death Note trailer (JYJ version)

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