Consider the sun today, which sparkles more
like a wheel of tin instead of burnished bronze—
Consider the burdock which, though squat
and uncomely, casts a thin and graceful shadow—
Consider the brittle branches whose pencilled forms
yet bring to mind the musk of summer magnolias—
One day, syllables snagged so long in the throat
will marry bright crystals of salt—
One day a mouth will press against another like the curve
of the moon on a hillside, like a homecoming—
One day the world will be that room,
and that room only.
—Luisa A. Igloria
In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.