Light + Fall
The lights outside are on always
through the frosted window
saying hello, still here
even in the middle of the night
quiet and preoccupied with whatever
occupies lights. The bathroom coated
in their dull orange. Consistently constant
aiming not to distract or draw the eye
they are after all preoccupied.
—
The life of candlelight
fear in the flicker inconsistent in comfort
wick reaches for you
a night that light cannot be trusted
walkers cautious of the shadows
misjudge the light, creating those very fears
tonight as you stay away from dark corners
on lit sidewalks only an arms reach
from the alleyways
know the light may misguide you
send you to places where you’re left
asking why
confusion in the known
unlinkable pieces we can see
is worse than wandering
aimlessly in the dark
what fills the absence
of a shadow? What was there
that was taken?
Spot lights cast glimpses
objects darting into and out of views
can we trust what the light shows us?
can we know the bright spot is salvation?
are we condemned to face the unknown dark?
□ □ □ □ □
Fall hides in cupboards, behind the pull handles
whose cheap brass has worn into different shades
of amberesent brown. When the doors open
emerges bowls and placemats and warmer jackets than
wind breakers. Candles that will be kept lit in
the evening. The dark encroaching earlier and earlier
Fall wait patiently in the gap in the backdoor where sometimes when the wind hits just right you hear a faint whistle.
Fall sits in the callouses at the base of your fingers from the summer weeding. Between the crops waiting one more day everyday until harvest.
Fall appears beneath the leaf pile suddenly, caught on the lip of the dripping gutter.
Fall is in the drawers behind the thicker socks in the folded lip of the knit hats dug out of bins.
Fall is found in the cold sunlight air so still the world feels as if the whole world is balancing, teetering on the brink like a flower debating on closing its petals against the air.
Fall is in the mugs, the hugs, the bugs, the shrugs, the glug glug glug of soup.
Fall is in the turmeric, richly yellow along the edges of everything it touches.