.
sun’s not up but imminent
trees in window developing
like ghosts in a dark-room bath
three boys asleep below
their mom nearby; in another
a girl sleeps with her’s;
all are young enough to have been
just born into this darkroom world
I look up again
earth’s sloughing shadow
in this dark room
in a duet of window-worlds
(reflections, mere)
one beyond the pane
urging itself to deciduous existence,
shades of leaf and limb
distending boundaries
of what’s possible emerging
from nebulous shade
in upcoming sun
pressing itself into being
against the outside glass
the other, inside—
a lamp’s reflection on the pane,
a wall, a clueless, backlit grey head
two tastes of real, one so ephemeral
it’d vanish in an instant of shattered glass,
the other, though more substantial, less sure
not just of futures
but of presents
and pasts
Jim Culleny
10/20/19, 6:44 am rev. 03/2023
Blink 