in the light that shows us where we are
I’ll cut to the chase so there’s no misunderstanding
I am not talking about God nor god though I suspect that’s been assumed by you
reader poetry’s design presumes we will go there or is it There
goodness knows I’ve made past attempt
but words got lost in the meaning or maybe it’s meaning in the words
so I leave that language in the string bag hanging from my desk chair arm
this morning all I know of light is the misted sunrise that’s obscuring my sense of step
the knowing where I put my foot that’s always been instinctive shrouded now by this strange cottoned glow as I carry my bowl caution my steps make my way to the bright ripe raspberries half clinging to the vine
4 thoughts on "in the light that shows us where we are"
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Golden. Love the second stanza especially, and the direct address to the reader. It felt like being let in on a secret.
Ahh, I love this, and the end makes me think of Wendell Berry. “Better than any argument is to rise at dawn and pick dew-wet red berries in a cup.”
Beautiful! Love this ending
I like the idea of leaving language in the string bag and moving to the bright ripe raspberries half clinging to the vine, especially the parallelism between “hanging” and “clinging”