Today's poem is by Mary Ann Samyn
A Thought, for Example, Is a Form
Of light. And at the center, light. And at the edges,
more light. This is you, all the way through. You turn
your armsay arm, think it, evenbut
the thinking's light too, that's the rub.
Arm light, ear light, chin light. Head to
Can you travel this way? Can you be your own lantern?
One of the difficulties is that I love what's special.
Mine Mine Mine. Glorious.
Got it? It almost works too well: the darkness,
the shaft and going down and hand me that lamp,
will you? So that when I asked the question,
I was hoping for a better answer, i.e. clarity.
But once you've coaxed that out, then what?
A path of fieldstones and each one more blank
more clearedthan the last? Oh, terrific.
And have you looked it up in the dictionary?
Unbelievable: electromagnetic radiation something
or other, ellipses mine, perceived by the unaided,
normal human eye. Or I. You know: who you are.
It doesn't get any more complicated than this,
and yet it does. Not simply daybreak, wake up,
rise and shine, but worse, as in can you throw some light
on the questionyoucurled there on the bed?
The point being that you can't see it. The point.
Of light. Where it enters. The top of your head:
tousled hair, too too sleepy. How can this be
and does anyone want to take this shift while I
clean up a bit? Or is this the way a fire cleans?
You know: first the light and then the hurt
and then the new shoots and how the deer love it.
Copyright © 2004 Mary Ann Samyn All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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