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rejectomorph

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Lit [Sep. 29th, 2013|07:50 pm]
rejectomorph
There's been no rain yet, though clouds have been thick all day with sunlight rarely breaking through. The clouds are higher than they usually are, and this gave the evening light a strangeness that was quite pleasing. All the underside of the overcast became luminous, though it remained steely gray even as the sun set. The pervasive light washed the trees and the houses and left no shade anywhere, even on their east sides. I don't recall ever having seen anything quite like it, except in photographs. I have no functional camera so I didn't take a picture, and I doubt that I'd have had the skill to capture it anyway. But I also doubt that I'll soon forget it.

Let the rain come soon.




Sunday Verse


This Heavy Craft


by P.K. Page


The wax has melted
but the dream of flight
persists.
I, Icarus, though grounded
in my flesh
have one bright section in me
where a bird
night after starry night
while I'm asleep
unfolds its phantom wings
and practices.

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Comments:
[User Picture]From: daisydumont
2013-10-01 02:31 am (UTC)
Gorgeous poem! I'd have loved to see the evening light as you describe it.
(Reply) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: flying_blind
2013-10-01 03:10 am (UTC)
I wasn't familiar with Page until quite recently. She is probably now my favorite Canadian poet.
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