Things Light Finds to Be Roger Mitchell From Savage Baggage
I can't explain it, D., only let
the rug unravel. We walk across the room.
Walk across the room again. See,
the light has changed, the things light finds to be.
I bet you'll never come to visit us,
she said. I felt accused, but she was right.
Now everything is here. The leaves drift down
in a steady wash of air. The world, let go,
hovers on its stalk.
And the dropping, which seems sudden,
isn't, and which seems like a downward motion,
props these groping twigs against the sky.