A soft rounded light
falls onto the tile
of perfect geometry and perfectly different size
like a periodic table
or the great Midwestern fields
from the plane always heading south,
home
Light beating gentler than a pulse
but a movement still
across cascading shades of green…
to me, but not to you
A warmth as soft as you are
Movement
than still
Sporadic as the breeze,
as the branches, as an animal outside
It shifts through the seconds
unrecognizable with each falling minute

Gone…a return to dark cold
by the hour
I change this light with my own stirring…
this light, but not you
My movement, an illusion
of my will, altering the sun
Profound delusion
though I see it with my own eyes,
feel the swing from cold to hot
What could possibly be real
in this room, any room, of this light
appearing to me through the filters of man and land
coming in from the east
The filters of this world show me a distorted fraction
Though the gentle orb that I receive is enough
to collapse the world outside these walls

The profound delusion
of the setting sun
leaving me in the care of a chilled, lunar light
that I never asked for
White that illuminates not nearly enough
that surrounds me with fields of blind unknown,
unsettled and alone

I am within reach

If I leave this space
the same light will burn,
unrepentantly
I stay within reach
Within its realm
Feeling home
Wanting home
Rooms or none…but a powerful envelopment
steadfast in its glow
So I follow its path
certain in its uncertainty
to be a home

You’ve talked about going east
to be small and quiet below towering trees
I’ve been with you in the east
in some way
fleeting
just out of reach
The way you know how to hold
fleeting
alongside your own mind
melding spirits and desires…
molding what you will
Telling yourself it couldn’t be real
The way you prefer
just out of reach

May 14, 2024