04-17-2016, 12:31 AM
Reconsidering the Nutmeg
It’s the light which blinds me happy.
The weight of the heat of the light
appears at dayspring, stays the chill hand,
the sodden quick vision imagined.
It’s the light, the idea once thought
never now to be unthought, not gone
not to vanish in bright beyond, but
taut in first blush renewed, spangles
like first love, morphed to climber vines
and set to course from soil upward–
bread, cheese and thee -- it is the light.
It’s the light which blinds me happy.
The weight of the heat of the light
appears at dayspring, stays the chill hand,
the sodden quick vision imagined.
It’s the light, the idea once thought
never now to be unthought, not gone
not to vanish in bright beyond, but
taut in first blush renewed, spangles
like first love, morphed to climber vines
and set to course from soil upward–
bread, cheese and thee -- it is the light.