Why can’t it be light I’d
like it to be light not
light like that light
coming in the window warm
morning at last but light
like a billowing unseen
without any sail
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Bel Canto
- In the Summer Capital
- The Hourglass
- Frost has silvered the grass
- Fragment of a Poem Disguised as SPAM
- Clear bulb of coral inside a paper shade,
- Private: Translucent in the sun, the laurel is a blaze of gloss—
- Kissing the Wound
- Fire Report
- Dear animal of my deepest need, you want to linger
- Ghazal, a la Cucaracha
- Heartache Ghazal
- Ghazal: Some ways to live
- What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
- A single falling note above
- La Caminata
- Dear nearly weightless day,
- Ghazal of the 1 o’clock caller looking for Pomona
- Breaking the Curse
- Milflores, Milflores
- Bad Script
- Ghazal of the Eternal Return
- Letter to the Underneath
- Tall Ships
- Beneath one layer, another and
- Landscape, with Summer Bonfires
- Dear language, most thick
3 Replies to “Light”
Oh, my, Luisa! This one takes my breath away.
Rosemary, thank you. That means so much to me.
LIGHT IN SO MANY MORE WORDS
Is it the light that breaks through “yonder window”?
(It is “the light through yonder window breaks”).
Is it the sunrise? Is it the setting colours of the sun?
Is it the light at the end of the tunnel? Is it the light
of an indescribably lonely but caressing soft light?
Love, life, living, leaving, lost in the Light’s embrace:
Is it any of these lights, in so many more words, you crave?
Or are these lights too light to light your lightened light?