This day,
frail dust,
bright
with all the
suns
we have
harvested,
ground into flour,
baked into daily bread,
devoured.
This is it,
frail dust,
today
last chance,
to absorb the happenstance of light,
how it dances on the sill beneath streaked glass,
how it lives brown in the province of skin,
how it plays when trapped in the cinema’s beam,
how it plumps the green pear and red apple,
how it illuminates the faces I love,
how it makes visible what lives in the dark,
how it soothes, blowing shadows from the heart.
2015