(c)1998, 2013 Dean Metcalf
Look
how far:
thermonuclear
orange light leaps clear
of
the sun, scoots 9 minutes
across
the universe
to
bounce now off Saturday’s
last
clouds, fracture
into
soft golds and greys, filter
past
sparse October leaves
across
Front Street,
tilt
through a vertical slit
in
the window blinds, skip
a
cool glance off a varnished
pool
table rail, slide
these
last few feet
into
my retinas
like
a softly-tapped
bank
shot: 2 ball,
side
pocket.
The
planet has turned today’s
final
corner. As the last light leaves,
I
notice for the first time
tension
in the small of my back:
I
have been tilting ever
farther
forward,
following
the fleeing color
like
some vertebrate houseflower
in
a room with one window,
lamenting
the leaving
of
that which makes me green,
leaning
toward the light.
Dean
Metcalf
I LOVE THIS!!!!!! Oh, thank you so much for sharing. I have been so busy and without time to read anything. This just brought joy to my heart. Missed reading your words.
ReplyDeleteCynthia Reifler Flores
(Hey, I didn't know how to "publish" my comment)
Well, I got it, and that's the main thing. I guess I use poetry for balance. I write about so much murder and grief, sometimes I gotta do... poetry. Of course, some of my poems ain't so jolly either. But I do love this poem; have since it first came out of me in that brew pub on Front street in Santa Cruz...
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