THE PORCH IN MIDSUMMER
(world & idea )
A jar full of red flowers.
It was the way light
Moved across them but
Oh, the time was dead
And oh, the seeing was dead
And oh, there was no way
Left to focus and Oh, what
Was there to say coming
Home? “I could not see
The red flowers and now
This camera too is broken
And I wonder if we can see
Anything, anymore.” All that
Was left took years to pull
Itself together, slightly out
Of focus, slightly overburdened
With the marks paint uses
To describe light, it sits there,
A beautiful thing, arcing
This way and that, between
What was and is, between words
And image, between world and ideas.
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