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.