on a day when light is tired,
and creeps just barely
across the floor to nudge
a perhaps foot in recognition
of shared apathy
do not mistake sadness
for a sort of ingratitude –
I am thankful for the hooks
that wrench up the grief
from beneath the calm
it is a change at least
in latitude, a revision
of a current insufferable state
and an airing out of that
which has stagnated within
let light be tired then,
and just barely there –
let us be dim together
and somnolent at least until
some fresher air may rouse us
© Sarah Whiteley
ebbtide 