What Light is Like.

by Marissa Bell Toffoli.

Birds sing through the morning.
What was there before?

I grew only shadows, never blossoms,
never fruit. Light fell through me.
Then, unexpected spring.
Hum and flurry so skewing perception.

We behold everything and nothing.
Close your hand around a fistful of air.
You can imagine anything
inside until your fingers unfold.

We will wane one way or another.
What matters is how we grow,
how we pay attention,
whether we do.

The birds are here to remind us.
Assume everything has wings,
and flight won’t feel as much like loss.
Light won’t feel like betrayal.

This entry was posted in Winter 2017:The Future is Behind Us.. Bookmark the permalink.

Comments are closed.