I Choose This Day
Light, your light,
slides
across the uneven skin of the earth-
longing to be waves;
to swell and surge like curled waves
caught in a horizontal ring.
Unlike the son of humanity;
not rising, divine,
a vertical reprimand,
accentuating the stark, defiant trunks of trees—
marking the slanted backs of men,
and their grotesque, handwritten notes
filed away in their brains.
Their shadows lengthen then,
like clockwork,
shrink into dark halos,
stagnant.
But Light,
your light magnifies,
washes out into infinity,
the flakes of daylight,
as dew on spring leaves, surprisingly—
about to blot me out.
