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Sunday, January 25, 2009

A mutating light

This poem evolved quite a bit over the course of the past few weeks. Two of its lines were taken from recent drawings: Thin-Fingered Dawn and Aura Spilling. The original working title was "Mr. Sunshine," but it and the overall mood moved away from my first too-personally indulgent impulses to something much more lyrical — at least I hope so.

The sweetness of light
by Francis Scudellari

His early, yellow years
marked by a restless gaze
this thin-fingered dawn that
passing quickly, gently
taps so many strangers
shoulders clad in new day's
rosy hope, his own vague
wishing deep-pocket tucked
close to a youthful heart:
one face returns the smile

His middle, muddy days
ever-creasing, hands held
up to blue-straining eyes
a pale, tulip-cup cap
to direct his wheeled mind
that sprays silver droplets
into shadowy nooks
a knobbed spigot of light
he endlessly spins to
capture the dust-mote dance

His dying, desert hours
golden aura spilling
from a low, lone-struck wound
his self-inflicted flow
that forms three-pronged puddle
that slow-spreads, swallowing
the too-loved particles
long ago cast, outward
waving spores to carry
this infecting sweetness
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