The Play of Light


9 June 2016

As the sun set fire
to the bay,
the sculler through it
was thrown
into shadow, a figure prophesying
the night to come,
the chorus of woods watching
sang of;

and sang of the blazing
light dying before them
on the stage of the bay,
waving their limbs
from side to side as they sang
when the winds blew
in the celestial orchestra.

How the woods did sing
as the light died,
so dramatic an act
the sculler rowed through,
prophesying the end of day.
How light had loved!
covering all with beauty.

Then a scull of a moon appeared
to row through the purple sky,
reflecting the sun in all its passing majesty,
the moon keeping the sun
from dying entirely;
the moon suspending the sun
just enough, until
the sun could come
round, again, and throw
its soft, soft breath of light
upon the waking bay.

Philip Kuepper
(13 April 2016)

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