This entry is part 8 of 95 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2010-11


How do we know the brown creeper fishing
in the dark valleys of the walnut tree’s bark
could not tell this landscape

from the moon’s? Past midnight, we craned
our necks toward the heavens’ gathered dark
and saw the shadow-play of bodies

entering each other’s path: the brief
interruption and embrace of light
by dark and dark by light, the face

of one passing over the other when
they’re perfectly aligned. Then
without rancor, without remorse

the plumb line lifts— and it seems
the world is as it was before, though all
that has transpired has changed

even the color of the morning sky.

Luisa A. Igloria

In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.

Series Navigation← ScherenschnitteHeart and Shadow →


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