Dear shadow,

This entry is part 72 of 73 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2011-12


it is certain you’ll travel to what waits
: not the intersection with its lights

already changing, not the fringe of rain-
spattered fields nor the road unbuckling

toward dusk. Even the lone truck you might hear
starting and stopping, engine running as if on

empty, will fade from sight. Just like
at the optometrist’s, when the technician

asks you to look through the viewfinder
and straight ahead at the red barn

with a silo and no stick weathervane. Then
she’ll blow a puff of air into your open

eyes, before sliding the window down.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← Field Note

3 Replies to “Dear shadow,”

  1. This is a recipe from the Poetry Cookbook: how to generate the most magic, from the fewest and simplest ingredients. Elemental and wonderful, indeed.

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