If For a Moment, Clarity

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If For a Moment, Clarity

Then reemerging, bleary-eyed, from pages 
of St. Augustine (or was it Tolkien?), 
it feels like when your nostril whistles
inexplicably and you can breathe again,

or when the hazy film in Claritin ads
is peeled away from corner down,
and you are made aware that yes, in fact,
that was your previous field of vision. 

Emerging so, this place begins to make, 
if but a little, sense. But Vita Beata, 
as Augustine called You, (or was 
that Thomas in the Summa Theologica?)

it clearly fades away to anything
but clarity, and with a dripping nose
we ramble through this pollen field— 
allergic, sure, but rambling nonetheless. 

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