by way of explanation

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

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