The Act of Light

by Austin McCarron

Believe me, that’s all I know,
the crime of beards,
marching
through visions
and bowing to the scheme of trains.

Guides appear and the rain is blind.

All night I follow the line, past buildings
and huts,
barns of time,
where giant haystacks of ice blue veins
bleed like types of air.
Temporarily
I beseech the act of light,
on the ground, hiding the birth of voices.