(On an untitled photograph by Diana Young)
Does light in the darkness
speak to you? Do the hues,
the values, the shapes whisper
a story, choke you with a curse,
or do they permit
you to breathe
the ignited air?
No direction,
only lust?
It’s all about photons, isn’t it,
and how they jazz up the leaves?
But who can read the messages delivered
by photons screaming? What’s to be made
of what the elaborate conjuring photons
posit, set forth — dare?
Nothing’s to be made.
Photons do not conjure,
display, posit, or dare.
It’s up to you to scream, to touch
the light, caress skin
crush folds
crunch dried leaves
between your eye teeth,
chew on the message
until it comes to you
straight and singed by fire.
