Make Something Work, Mr. Mann

He sold his television.
He laid down his bright goods
in rows for neighbors to see.
45 years of delusion.
His dearest love had vanished.
After all this God told him to see.
Night and day he watched.
He knew there were tracks
between stars. He didn’t
anticipate the way his eyes
adjusted to dark. The way
his ears picked up the owl
every time. The gliding of deer.
Random movements of mice
in obscure corners. The world
waking to sun. How death comes,
but not yet.