Light

The London post . . .

Light Falling in the River
by Kenneth Durham Smith

A winter night, full tide, just past the rain –
how much light falls into the river

Streetlights, office lights, the bridge roadway,
the downward mounted lamps beneath the bridges,
the lights of trains, strung upon a string,
the steel glint of an early moon

Perhaps the higher frequency red and yellows
stick in the surface tension of the water,
the blues and violets sink through the depths

Perhaps the churn of tide against current
mix them all back together and we see
a thin sheet of light, like ice or glass
just below the surface, from bank to bank

If I stepped out onto that sheet,
I would feel the river move beneath me
and feel it wash across my feet

The riposte from Seattle . . .

From the Depths of this Hollow
by David Keith Johnson

From the depths of this hollow
I can see
the deeper depths of this hollow
and the canyon rim above
where the sunlight leans on its forearms
peering over the edge
into the depths of this hollow

So where are the others? the light asks.
You are not so entertaining by yourself.
You just sit there.
There never were any others, I reply.
I am not here to entertain anybody.