I've been doing too much pessimistic expounding of late. darkness always gives way to the light. This is a poem about that. My granddaughter Willow is our light dancer, caster, and killer of shadows.
Shadow Kill
it's a lot easier to talk about gutters than stars
gutters collect the runoff
the excess water that falls from the sky
carrying leaves, sticks, small dirts and
if there's enough of it around, blood
washed back to the
the ocean we came from.
the gutter's clogged
with excesses of our dead parts.
But we can't drown stars.
their lights shine and as long as we can see them
the gutters will only collect the small parts
of the glory of the explosions in the sky.
in the beginning there was light
the lights in the sky are stars
no gutter can hold the fury of the coming of the light
we burn and boil and rise in to the air
nothing can hold us in this universal bang
the stars would kill us if we got too close to them
the gutters are safer.
we can float there and drown the streets
with parts of once living things
killers, presidents, butterflies, and kings,
leaves, and waste...
Oily bones and vegetable power
darkness is a shadow under our feet.
we are creatures of the light.
what storm can wash light through the streets?
