After Lighght

Look, I’ve already ruined it
or it’s ruined me.
The dawn I see by doesn’t need me
like I need it
and any extra letters it brings.

What we call mountains
is a deep violet strip
narrowly rising and falling over the green.
You might call them clouds
and be right

or hand me something crisp
call it money or flowers
and set it alight.

Credit

Copyright @ 2014 by Tom Thompson. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on June 25, 2014.

About this Poem

“Looking east from a porch in Coxsackie, New York, I was thinking about Aram Saroyan’s poem ‘lighght’ and wondering what if anything can come after such a flash of insight and wit. The sun started spilling out just then, over the top of the Berkshires on the far side of the river.”

—Tom Thompson