What Light Does

Today, I did nothing.

Light went on as usual,

throwing leaves against the white wall,

as if no one were watching, as if

there’s no meaning in the trembling

of the leaves. Later, light moves

the leaves onto the tile floor,

and once I might have thought them

dancing, or that the shadow

of a thing is more beautiful

than the thing itself, but it’s not,

it’s just ordinary light, going about

its ordinary business. Now, evening is here,

and I’ve made it through another day

of shadows. This is not metaphor, or poetry,

it’s how the unbearable is

a blade that gleams and remains

visible, long after light has gone.