Friday, June 12, 2009


12 June 2009

Light comes through the slats,
sometimes subtle, sometimes
keen--then the shutters cut like Damascus
steel through butter. The light
comes regardless of pallor or intensity--
a dozen curtains couldn’t block the cumulative
kinetic energy of the sun’s arms winding through
space, bouncing off the moon and the atmosphere,
making their way to my window, melting
into a bright and beautiful pool at my feet.


holly daniele smith said...

Forgive my random comment, I just stumbled upon your blog and thought this was lovely. Especially: "then the shutters cut like Damascus..." Great work!


Maria said...

Thank you, Holly. No apology needed. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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