In Sight—The Best Light
Not uncommon for me to walk Brattle Street,
down Tory Row, avoiding, habitually,
stumbling on the cracked blue stone
which ancient roots in defiance lift
to peril those who pass Longfellow’s House
unaware of where they tread.
I make a trip into the Square
to post a letter – the best time
to avoid a line: the academics all
sleep in past ten.
I go to buy a book or meet a friend.
I walk back home, toward the west.
The sun is often in my eyes.
I watch my feet, avoid a fall.
For twenty years,
a thousand times or so, I’ve walked this way,
but yesterday, heading east, late in the day,
I paused – the light, not in my eyes,
is brilliant, angled low,
I sense her rays have transfixed time,
The houses, trees, historic walls
in finest hues and contrasts shown,
each crafted nook and sophphic.
Seeing thus, illumined as in a book,
a deeper purpose inscribed here,
I ponder what may be found
within those learned rooms and halls,
or, from where I stand, if only you or I
from the habit of our day
and from sunset look the other way,
will find illumed in that slanting light
a spectral richness of insight.
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