Part of my Feb 2024 Dream Poems project.
Infiltration
I sit in a room in New England
watching this muted
spill of light
as trees refract
the sun’s best intentions,
if the sun intends,
or if the sun portends,
calibrated flares and
flickers too fast to be seen,
yet they pulse behind our eyes,
an impression, an erasure.
I witness the breathing image,
stripped to silhouette,
a filtered projection of glass
crystallised and cascading,
fractured and sharp,
inside this house
that’s millions of miles
from the nearest star, the sun’s
heat just a memory as it arrives.
Over time, mere minutes,
the window-slanted glow creeps
across its beige stage,
shadows overlap and pattern,
opening up space, veiling
the wandering of the wind,
and then the smallest quiver,
the raspy quaver
as the air nears stillness
before it’s wafted away
again, and the sun slides,
leaving the carpet
with the memory of light –
and what does the light remember?
© M Wms 2024
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