Meaning the lens through which the light could come.
Some doorway inviting passage, or at least reflection.
Now I want to touch the crackly paper, unroll it so it’s flat upon the table.
Blueprint of rooms that carpenters might translate into stone, light, glass.
The sheen of wood under my heel.
Do I dare to fit the keys into their sockets?
How much for a handful of nails, a trowel, a stanza of bricks?
A nautilus is a poem fished out of water, its halls filled with cantilevered dreams.
Grass blades weighed down by rain calculate the distance their bright missiles will travel.
Poise of a pencil before the cross-hatched stroke.
Here we are on the threshold of summer—
It is only the shortest night of the year.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
Poet Luisa A. Igloria (Poetry Foundation web page, author webpage ) is the winner of the 2015 Resurgence Prize (UK), the world’s first major award for ecopoetry, selected by former UK poet laureate Sir Andrew Motion, Alice Oswald, and Jo Shapcott. She is the author of What is Left of Wings, I Ask (2018 Center for the Book Arts Letterpress Chapbook Prize, selected by Natasha Trethewey); Bright as Mirrors Left in the Grass (Kudzu House Press eChapbook selection for Spring 2015), Ode to the Heart Smaller than a Pencil Eraser (Utah State University Press, 2014 May Swenson Prize), Night Willow (Phoenicia Publishing, 2014), The Saints of Streets (University of Santo Tomas Publishing House, 2013), Juan Luna’s Revolver (2009 Ernest Sandeen Prize, University of Notre Dame Press), and nine other books. She is a member of the core faculty of the MFA Creative Writing Program at Old Dominion University which she directed from 2009-2015. In 2018, she was the inaugural Glasgow Distinguished Writer in Residence at Washington and Lee University. When she isn’t writing, reading, or teaching, she cooks with her family, knits, hand-binds books, and listens to tango music.