In The Light Of The Day After

Reading the online news of my world, I see
that Victor writes of this morning’s light
that it is “bright but harsh.”
I agree, and go back to bed
until the afternoon
has softened into overcast.  Ah, that’s better.

My mood, now?  The heartbeat’s
back to normal, I can look at the paper,
only begin to weep when I hear
the recording of her voice exhorting us all
to live.  I hear my own voice at the end
offering love, uttering the catchphrase

we’ve all learned to use over these last weeks
to exhort her to do the same.  Last night,
under the bright but harsh wolf moon,
she went on her way and now we’ve got a decision to make
about exactly what we’re supposed to do
with that inconvenient command,

“live.”  If the morning after is so harsh
that we crawl back to bed to avoid it,
should we dare to claim to have heard anything she said?
I know it’s only been a few hours
and we easily have an excuse — but would she
have done so?  I don’t know; she loved the night so much

that maybe waiting
for it to start before we start makes sense.
But maybe we’re supposed to take action
under whatever light the world throws at us.
Maybe having the right light before we begin
isn’t the point.

The clouds have moved in this afternoon,
so that wolf moon won’t be in the sky tonight,
at least not so we can see.  I’m going out
no matter what.  I’ll rely on the light of what I can’t see:
the moon, the light reflecting off the teeth of legendary wolves,
the red hair of a novice angel,

the glow in the center of the word,
“live.”