Framing the Wind – a first draft before it all goes away

How the light catches this corner of the kitchen now.

Some effusive glow that might have left us spellbound

And captive to a late afternoon pause.

But that corner hides dust and crumbs

Winters droppings and excuses and dark things.

.

This time there will be no pagan contemplation

Of this full circle before us.

No, this light pulls us away from the long dark

Where we lived maybe close within ourselves,

Intimate

In a way that accumulated warmth and a dim light can do,

Pulling you in while tempting you out

In short fidgety bouts.

.

Now, with almost forgotten suddenness,

Light piles through the window

Like the first time

When it pulled us out there.

A long ways from there.

.

And once out that door,

A long ways from here.

Convinced there were ghosts out there.

This is that time:

.

The long fetch up the hill:

Landscapes of new Spring grass

Flailing and moving.

Ever with the hard line of something

Hidden just over the hill

Waiting to knock at that broad, dark door.

Light now streaking through its edges.