Tuesday, February 23, 2021


When it finally begins, the darkness arrives in pixelation

like the confetti of falling wishes and hopes

the light in the chamber dappled by bigger and bigger shadows until they connect

bleed together into an understanding of night. We agree

this sliding together of darkness is another night.


This is the spell that has us call the red fruit a tomato

because to speak of nightshades is to conjure

the deadly apothecary of belladonna

the whisper of poison in the wine. So we agree

this is a tomato and the closing gloom is just another end of day.


But isn’t there just a minute when you catch yourself

mouth still wet with the tang of your caprese or gazpacho

your skin still warm from the sun? Do you pause at the chill of first shadows

and the curious bite of acid at the back of your throat? Do you wonder

if the words have been sung like a lullaby so you will close your eyes and sleep?