There in the cosmos--
white dwarfs launch a black rooftop
imagistic, clean as a pantry,
the twilight roads with ledges lean
like raw openings.
And coming upon stars
in a country woodhouse
--cold, big as frozen pears,
each breath of light visible
thru chinks & clusters
of broken ceiling wood;
hands raw & nipped sawing logs--
breath menacing the depths
on inner space, something pale
and profoundly suggestive.