"Image is narrative" in Wakoski's poems; in this collection's title sequence, "The Saturn's Ring Poems," thoughts and memories are spun from the symbol the ring. "More Light, More Light,"
Yet, I have been the moon
too, her silvery translucence still
glowing in my hair
And I have loved the sun
though now only have allergic-sensitive
to show for it.
The day I mailed off my
wedding ring that I'd carried
so long on my key ring,
to the woman in California who requested
I opened an old, mildewing trunk,
and another gold ring
fell through the top layer of
rotting cloth and landed
its little round gold self
on a white wool Greek sweater
that for some reason was intact.
And I thought of myself
as the rings of Saturn,
not the planet, mysteriously green,
and throbbing in the solar night,
those chunks of ice, swirling in orbit,
dead stones, without flicker or
life, who become
bathed in opal glow as they move
around their gravitational source;
and seen through light years
they seem like rings, girdling
the planet; they seem to
have as much light
as the whole strip of casinos
in Las Vegas.
The illusion is the same as that
the poet projects.