let light come slowly

light is sparse this morning
so let it come slowly,

a sifting upwards
of gold, diffuse
through wind-bent trees

let morning be hesitant –
with time, nothing
will be left out in darkness

© Sarah Whiteley

My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press. Pre-orders through March 22nd will have an opportunity to win a canvas print of the cover art. Click for details!

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I could not think a prayer

I could not think a prayer,
and so instead I found one –

spreading low and white
along the river below

and for an hour, together
we were slow and driftless

with only the vague intent
to flit and lift,

which is prayer enough
in a temple of trees

making acolytes of ravens
and hymns of the leaves

© Sarah Whiteley

have you seen how hope…

have you seen how hope
gathers at the edge of pain?

how like first light, it graces
the thin lip of the ridge
before sweeping wholesale
down the slope?

how sometimes it is slow
to gather, and even slower
to rise up over the noise
of our daily just-eking-by?

love, too, is like this –
it should spill over like time
that can’t be bound by hours,
it should shake your petals

© Sarah Whiteley

extra cinnamon

startled stranger,
you may be wondering
how it is that quite suddenly
what very much appears to be
nothing other than a slightly misshapen
pumpkin (yes, take a gentle whiff) pancake
has turned up, or rather fallen, onto the stiff
blue wool shoulder of your winter coat

it’s just that
the crows were hungry
and your raucously loud
barreling-around-the-corner
cell phone conversation disturbed
Charlie (the one scolding you) Crow,
causing her to drop her treasured breakfast
onto the unfortunate shoulder of your winter coat

I added extra cinnamon

© 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