A Not So Lovely Light

There is something special about the way 
the early morning light is drizzled across the park.  
A yawning of softness lingers in the air. 
Better pictures are stolen before the light fully awakens;  
before it takes notice of our gazing at its nakedness.  
It’s only after lunch, in the middle of the day, when it stiffens 
into sharp knives stabbing at trees and buildings 
while it skids and bounces off the river, bursting pupils 
with the pain of its reprisals, darting in every direction 
looking for escape as though something were chasing it, 
perhaps clouds, or night, or tourists’ cameras.  
The drowsiness of evening brings it to a calm. 
Surrendering itself to lovemaking with tender strokes 
and warm caresses before it takes its leave; 
A sailor briefly home, then back to sea.  
It loves and leaves us as a brute 
while we as harlots cling; 
and then we mourn our loss.

lightnarrative

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