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Even on a sunny day It’s dark at the lawn’s edge Where the undergrowth begins At the foot of the hill The edge of the woods A small signal of some kind Flashes from that shadowy realm What could it be? Horton isn’t here to interpret Or explain tiny messages What could it be? My mind goes racing Imagination fills To overflowing What reason would reject A tiny village is there A candle in the window The cell window of a monk Working by candlelight Transcribing, copying, praying Sun glints off blades As skaters Circle a frozen pond On a crisp Late afternoon A damsel In a castle keep Her mirror Signaling Her lover Approaching I found a fragment The least bit of a leaf On a silken thread Moving in the breeze© 2013 Thomas W. Cummins
In a dim light... 