back ~ home ~ up ~ next poet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This Morning

 

Justin plays with light from space

   That catches his gold watch's gleam.

   He angles that trout-rapid beam

With a flick from cup, to wall, to face.

 

Eight minutes, ray, from sun to here

   You sped across the airless dark,

   Unborn until your brilliant mark

And welcome in our atmosphere

 

From one brown boy who toys with you

   Arriving, now, as minutes pass.

   Pure energy through common glass,

Griefless, and forever new.

 

Gerry Cambridge

 

 

From Madame Fi Fi's Farewell: And Other Poems,
Luath Press Ltd., Edinburgh, Scotland 2003.
Reprinted by permission of the author.

Background
by Grapholina


back ~ home ~ up