He Held Radical Light
 
      He held radical light
      as music in his skull: music 
      turned, as
      over ridges immanences of evening light
      rise, turned
      back over the furrows of his brain
      into the dark, shuddered,
      shot out again
      in long swaying swirls of sound:
      
      reality had little weight in his transcendence
      so he
      had trouble keeping
      his feet on the ground, was
      terrified by that
      and liked himself, and others, mostly
      under roofs:
      nevertheless, when the
      light churned and changed
      
      his head to music, nothing could keep him
      off the moutains, his
      head back, mouth working,
      wrestling to say, to cut loose
      from the high unimaginable hook:
      released, hidden from stars, he ate,
      burped, said he was like any one 
      of us: demanded he 
      was like any one of us.