Sunday, March 25, 2012


I observe the pattern of sun shafts
as they pierce through glass panes

A songbird striated
by ornate window grills
heralds a morning

I wonder how shadow-lines imitate
the contour of real ones

how often I detect my own tragic tales
on a bird's eye

This mimicry of umbras and penumbras
casting a checkerboard on every damn thing
that humans may perceive

Flaunts itself on the windowsill

Yet what else can sunshine offer
one plot of hope
one pothole of despair

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