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,
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.