Tag: light

pretending flowers

light dropped
from a great height
makes no sound still

words now
would be thin and
near to useless

hush, since
it’s futile to
say you are my joy,

and watch
the hummingbird search
the warm, red bricks

pretending
flowers where
there are none

© Sarah Whiteley

payment

my knowledge of you
is not free

I pay for it, as one does
with any passage –

in silences,
in glances held

in the avid awareness of you alone
amongst the crowd,

and in relinquishing
the oft-sharp joy light must feel

in falling upon
that most hallowed of curves –

that pale, beloved arch –
the back of your sweet neck

yet, I am paid back a hundredfold
with the charm of knowing

© Sarah Whiteley

pearl from shadow

there is no finer promise
than the uncertain light
which finds you
from between the blinds
and casts you
in bewitching blue –

a hue into which my hands
are driven to dive –
pulling the pearl
from the shadow

© Sarah Whiteley

the augury

you were new
as buttercups
in April,

silent as a spill
of church-light
on the grass

though I felt it
in my own throat –
your breath

and that sweet,
augural hitch
as I passed

© Sarah Whiteley

*

while there is time,
before light
returns to nothing –

–listen–

the silence that arises
following the wreck
is our sound of goodbye

we are both of us
composed of calligraphies
the other will never read

© Sarah Whiteley

what the day contains

brown drifts of coffee grounds,
and the tappings of the black-capped chickadee
finding rhythm with the tick-ticking
of spring rain on new-green locust leaves
the passing hours mold the morning
into the firmer lines of day,
tracing the flights of fugitive birds –
red hawk, wren, house finch, crow,
ubiquitous dust-winged sparrow
shadows lazily skate and shift,
thumbing plants and spines of books,
shelves graced with inconsequential treasures –
of feather, stone, and sloping shell
the peonies on the window,
barely beyond their prime,
settle into fading brilliance
with unabashed aplomb
and if it might seem I forget you
amidst this gentle roster –
you’re the one, though absent,
who gives the hours their reason
and this simple room, its light

© Sarah Whiteley

on a day when light is tired

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