How are you doing
with today’s harsh light?
Is there an obvious point
to be made of it, or is this day
like all others recently:
a mystery drag that becomes a shrug
as we shake our heads and say,
“Well, what did you expect?”
Not that every day or even every
moment of every day must have a point,
of course; mostly we’re clueless
and happy enough just getting by.
Now and then, though, the light
picks up an epiphany, a shadow
glooms a space, a breeze configures
a curtain’s shape against a piece of furniture,
and this day to which we’d been oblivious
blooms with meaning and purpose
and we agree that of all we expected of the day,
this was the least probable outcome.
Any day could hold such moments,
so again, I say, with the hard light around us
illuminating all in a stabbing flash,
how are you doing?
What has become clear
since yesterday, since ten minutes gone by,
since the day
you were born?