Sunday words

Terra Incognita

When I walked in the yard

Before sunrise,

I made my way among patches of dew —

Those constellations on the darkened grass.

The webs drifted like anenomes,

And I thought of lifting them

As if they were skeins of brilliant yarn

That I could give to my mother

Who’d keep them

Until we knew what to make.

I pictured a shirt —

How I’d pull it over my head

And vanish in the sudden light.

— Stephen Kuusisto

Only Bread, Only Light

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