Darkness and the wind, it
Comes up, and
At first I want
To not like it,
I ask or
Rather wonder
If I’m looking in all the wrong
Interstitials
Being, thinking
Never to be young or old,
Just discard the context, what’s
Important is that
I devise solutions, the work-arounds to the
Demands of crisis
And the more I go
Into those worlds, the more
I seem to fly,
Noting that while
My feet are on terra firma,
Balanced and so forth,
I tip as I reach into determination, up
To and in to some unfamiliar places
Truest to say, all I’ve thought about
For some weeks now is light,
And I’ve hacked down trees,
Run from forest, gasped at those
Beautiful sentries crowding out the sky.
I am looking for the light, but
My prairie senses
About all of this mean
Absolutely nothing,
Because if I can’t find the light,
That right light,
No opening spaces matter.
I suppose it’s time to remove
The soft-needled, unadorned
Christmas evergreen, hosting strings
Of small white lights, that’s all, so
Time to take it
To the newly-building berm between
Our place and Bobby’s fields,
A way to signal ourselves into this earth,
Compost into whatever comes and
Likely as not in spring
Bobby’s fields will continue to bloom
In long western light, the one
Beginning as a bathing sun
Waking me this last morning
I was asleep and far away in to
The death of a Grand
Mother
As I turned to settle,
Unearthly light, pink crimson blinding
Sunrise glowing light
Burned up from Cayuga on my east, and
Slipped along, upgrading from the
Water’s lake-banks to the fields, then
Slipping as the morning glazed
Old fascia windows.
It lasted only seconds
All things jumble now
And I sleep and move,
According
To the
Light, and finding
That without the dark,
Nothing means one thing.
Then wind.
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