by Cassandra de Alba
everything can be reduced
to a quality of light
what i am feeling now
is blue sky behind dead trees
filtered through a window
just to the right
of whatever i’m staring at
last night i wanted to feel
like the faint sunrise glow
beyond a hill off the highway
the ragged, haloed treeline
like a breaking promise
but instead i was overcast
and muddy, a mess
of stout, stubby clouds
like cotton
packed over the sun
and my eyes, packed
into my ears and brain,
stopping up my throat,
blocking all the light