Long Light

By | 1 August 2015

(i) Long Light

A grey autumn full of splash,
spiders abseiling from gutters,
fresh raindrops
polka-dotting backyard green duvets
in the shortening light.
The animals are here: birdfeeder
tantalizing the cat, puppy
whining at the hedgehog,
ants massing at their queenly
altars, pupae swinging
off swanplants or snuggled
into softening flesh.
Voices in the light
and the no-light:
speakers, tappers, hummers,
barkers, purrers, clickers
scratchers and swishers;
swivellers and blinkers
of lenses.

(ii) Long Light Redux

So there was darkness
despite the sun’s claims—
its drunken rays lacked focus,
glared in pools on floorboards,
slipped through the filigreed
patterns of sheers.

The potted flax reached up
to the windows promising light.
The peace lily gathered dust
as it drank from its tray.
The long snuffed candle
rested before a clay scallop shell

painted gold. Its dimensions
are twelve cubits by twelve inches
falling out of heaven from God.
The scallop stripes reach east,
west, north, south, and each
direction has a gate made

from a single pearl.

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