Thursday, April 13, 2023


On an April afternoon, 
the light gets so 
smooth and even 

that it seems to 
caress every
detail from the world. 

It's actually 
quite strange to see;

every grass blade, 
every toddler in the park, 
every old car's patina—

which should be
ringing out with its 
own special clarity—

takes the shape 
of a wave; a faint pattern 
in wood. 

No object is separate, 
and so, no thought
is possible.

But it's over in an instant 
as the sun 
changes angles, 

and the moment 
disappears, as it ought
(as it must) 

into the steady, 
fraught, and 
atomized sequence 

of my routine 
reflections and habitual
to-do lists.