It was just one of those mornings for poetry,
sorta...




LIGHT

Oh my god, the light striking me like whips --
Blows raising welts of heat crush me to the ground.

On my back in the dirt, eyes closed, infinitesimal speckles of that light
Dusting my eyelids with grace –

Spread eagled in the grass, dew on my breasts,
Heat painting my back, my ass –
my clenched thighs releasing in the color of it –

And that fine fine light falling past the glass in my window
Gossamer wafted about by cat’s paws and my breath –

Incandescence of the individual droplets weeping down the panes of my bay window.

Oh the many words of this thing I cannot touch.

I whisper it: the light the light.