It’s how the light falls
On picture frame or dark glass,
The potter’s floss of words
Or memory’s discarded stash.
A sudden glimpse that fracture makes:
This is where I try again,
Where the leaves that fall on dreams
Sway on instead, enjoin their soundless song.
Day-talk breathes less than promises.
But it’s how the light speaks
Back to us instead, between breaths
Of endless time.
(16 March 2016)