A house to be shut up
The time of my quickness is gone. Now my pace is that of a child on a midnight stair. So bear with me, please, if I drape too long a shadow on your day as I lean to your table and turn over this or that trinket. Soon enough though slow we’ll straighten up and let the light at you again. I’ll walk away while my shadow bestows itself on casual elsewheres like a sheet in a house to be shut up for the summer, floating down fully spread, knowing before it makes first touch the breadth of peace its furnishing will need.
Michael W. Thomas, from Under Smoky Light (Offa's Press, 2020)
