Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Exactly This

Walking past piles 
of stale, old-news snow,
everything seems exact this morning.

Sharp-angled buildings, 
composed of so-many back-lit bricks,
quake in Fahrenheit temperatures,

while precisely three rumpled finches 
swoop in Euclidean circles, as if to advertise 
the depth of mild morning air.

and measured, 
and dark,
an iron bell clangs
a calculated reminder-

I, and those birds,
and those dark bricks,
and even that stale snow;
we aren't exactly news and weather;
not exactly lines or measures,
but all exactly this together:

here and hungry
for today's soft light.