lightness, darkness,
and their shadow clan of degrees*
hold down the tables

this one reeks
jet fuel, african dust
notebooks of coordinates

that one sleeks
wild hair, bespoke pockets
memorized fragilities

another cuts the gloom
angled shoulders, sharpened words
particulars recorded

some are cool as
lebanese cedar groves
watching from internal heights

some smoulder
kamchatka volcanoes
roiling just below the rim

tempest tossed upon the waves
stories brave and specifically fierce
leave details glinting in the gloom

and in the only pool of sunlight
one nondescript woman, but
call her middling, fat and intrigued

pulling them through the glass
turning them like pages
she tastes the One Song.

*First two lines stolen from DPerkins, in our longstanding tradition of stealing lines with which to ‘Mustang’ a different poem…. Sound of renegade hoofbeats…

Image from Free-Photos on… yes, pixabay.com