even though expected,
still thrills. We step outside.
Our slow, sleep-slurred words
falter as the concrete steals the bed-warmth
from near-naked feet.
It takes some seeing, oh but when we do,
the frisson: this otherness, this unfamiliar
rubbed-out red that’s neither blood nor bloom,
amber to ember.
To our left, a light flicked off.
We sense the shape at the window stare
at us staring. The restless earth rolls on,
and all becomes the shadow.
© Marion Adams 2015
on the dark pond’s tense surface:
light glimpsed within light.
Photo & text © Marion Adams 2014
Posted in haiku, Nature, Uncategorized
Tagged dark, glimpsed, God, light, movement, pond, reflection, surface tension, tense, water
shreds vestiges of sleep;
nothing uncertain in its glare
that keeps no secrets.
Tumbled thoughts attempt
a semblance of order,
like bats with faulty sonar,
banging against the skull.
This is the cruel hour.
Likelihood becomes inevitable,
possibilities become probabilities,
potential succumbs to the ineluctable.
This is the cruel hour,
the long waiting
for the rising that cannot be suppressed,
the kindly light.
© Marion Adams 2013
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/storm-crypt/2054451263/”>Storm Crypt</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>