167

Silas and Hollis sat in
            The outhouse on Silas' bunk
                        Watching the midafternoon light
Fall an old hoe that
            Rested in the doorway, which was
                        Still half in shadow.
They were drinking from an opaque
            Black bottle, the receptacle
                        Of some hop liquor Hollis
Had bought several days prior
            From a boy on a nearby holding
                        As he passed on his way back
From the fairground.
            Silas was speaking in a monotone
                        About the nature of light.
How it seemed fluid and yet
            Without mass, how it was
                        Malleable and lacking fixity,
How it could touch and yet not
            Be palpable.
                        He conjectured it was an element
Apart from all others; contingent
            On other laws than they,
                        And not bound by providence
To the conditions that dictated
            Their human sight. Hollis drank from
                        The black bottle
And his lit head nodded
            In the formations of dust motes
                        In the thick air before him.