CORE

All evening was in catanoia,
The crimson sky spread across,
Even on the still lake,
A rich Persian carpet it made.

Trick of illusion,
'Twas,
All fragile origami,
All paper landscape.

I bent over the placid lake,
My shadow cutting the fake sky,
An arresting scream, I heard,
Slicing the airless evening.

And there 'twas,
All evening was an eruption,
Bursting open the bulbous sky,
Bursting open the fake sky.

Receding into itself,
'Twas tranquil again.
But in that gasp of moment,
I saw the cosmic id.