Sunrise And Other Thoughts

Sky is both diffuser

And its own prismatic piece.

Its job is Light,

Which goes and flows,

And touches here and there,

On bended frond or purling wake,

Or jalousie’s a-line skirt.

Receiving Light,

That little thing – the branch, the wave, the pane –

Lobs it fracteled left and right

Improbably to find

Corners still in westward gloam,

Walls facing yesterday.

A watcher looking east,

Seeing silhouette afire,

Bows at Light that seeks and finds

And rides on little things,

Surprising Light, physics’ star,

A Law unto Itself.


Looking East In Winter

Looking East In Winter

The sun rises south

Of my line of vision,

Which is limited,

Blocked by the bulk of

Our own building.

But I can still see the sun rise

Largely on the face of the

Tallest building on the water;

A dull colored block of

Thick-pasty concrete.

It happens so finely that

I cannot name the second,

Just suddenly see the nondescript

Lift its head in gold-face.

Uprights and crossbeams,

Doubly anointed, thrust forward in

Cross-shaped relief

Against angled shadows behind.

Even paste and concrete

Have their language.