Monday, June 2, 2014

Nadirs & Zeniths

Nadirs & Zeniths
Sunol Foothills

I walk up the curving road,
past vineyards and paddocks.
The straight, dawn light cuts
through rain-wet trees.

I remember someone I’d just
met the last time I walked here,
long ago. Someone I could barely
see in the glare of the new. 

The morning collapses into contrast: 
chiaroscuros of telephone pole,
shaggy ancient olive trees,
many-handed cacti.

Only far from her zenith can the sun
make such angled work of light.

The question comes,
sudden as a puncture:
Do we choose the wrong one
so we can be right?

All the world briefly
shrinks to this question
before the sun magnifies it.
Shatters it.
I stop beneath an oak. In the bowl
of a field stands a blond mare.
The dawn side of her shines,
the other waits in blue shade.

I decide: sides are for fences.
Brightness does blind.
Beginnings only follow
ends and storms.

But I am willing to be wrong.
I step from the graveled shadow
into the sun. The wise light
hits me with a fist of yes. 

1 comment:

Pam said...

A lovely poem, Anna. I see you still have the touch.