Light Is the Brand of the World

You want to rip the light
Out of the world sometimes.
No, not rip. Tug on it,

The way you try to get
A snugly glued label
Off of some glass item,

Reluctant to soap it,
Carefully peeling it,
Hoping it doesn’t shred.

The sun on the park grass
This evening as it sets,
For instance. It’ll go,

You know it will, but you
Itch to lift it up whole
Off the grass while still gold,

Roll it up, contemplate
The neatness of the job,
Before you throw it out.