A mirror to its light

What sees the honest sun now
through the murk,
what sees she I mean they I mean it —
with cyclones and downpour and downfall on every circuit,
small hope-sparks to offset the clamor, to illuminate? To change, define?
To ornament in circles as they, as we, circle the drain?

I would hold, in my reaching for a hand, for land,
for anchor, only a mirror to its light,
to its propensity to dawn over things, over us,
when we are expecting it least.
I would hold a mirror.