“The eternal may be nothing more mysterious than an ordinary moment illuminated from within.” Quote by the poet
poem submitted to "Between Here and Eternity" poetry contest, Sotto Poet, sponsor, September 28, 2026
Not dust. A diminutive parliament adrift in the sun's adjudication. Wool-memory. Pollen-script. The pale errata of a vanished cat. The mote revolved through lucence, a gyroscope of dispersals, field becoming fleece, fleece becoming cuff, cuff becoming gesture, gesture becoming absence. Afternoon negotiated with the bookcase. The window acquiesced. Even the wooden chair, stoic apostle of corners, briefly surrendered its silence. What congregation is this, where orchard, sheep, sleeve, wing, assemble their afterlives without permission? A mote stippled the aether. Or so I named it. Yet naming seems a provincial habit. The particle preferred other affiliations: relic, rune, diorama of departures. Suspended in radiance, it rehearsed some smaller cosmology~ not orbit, not d e s c e n t, but a third inclination for which language, that old taxonomist, possesses no ledger. Perhaps thresholds begin here~ not in graveyards, nor beneath cathedral vaults, but in ordinary rooms where sunlight briefly anoints the nearly invisible. The mote crossed beyond the beam. No elegy. No proclamation. Only the sudden vacancy of illumination. I found myself wondering: when the luminous thing leaves the light, what exactly departs?
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.