Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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sleeping in moonglow

a whole moon
shrinking
without stark relief
or angles
perhaps hanging
in a mist I cannot see
its clear light
muted and opaque
entering my room
by stealth
air brushing
walls and shapes
and sets them floating
in the glow
along with me

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a shortling, about the moonlight that found every corner of my room last night. it was so different, I couldn’t help but notice.


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catching the light

however it comes
we want it all, that light,
bright understanding
to open eyes,
illuminate and warm
our world, and free us,
so we think.

on light filled, sunny days
our spirits lift and soar
on updrafts,
hawklike, hunting
promise in those beams,
the source of what
is possible.

but with no sun and open sky
do we still sense
the light there for us
brought in different form?
that it still shines,
its power now diffuse
but no less ours,
and can we grasp
with raptor talons
all the glimmers due us?

much harder then
to have to work
for something often
free of effort, easy
to absorb, enjoy,
yet if we persevere
there is reward,
brilliance, no less a gift
for being indirect.

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this ornament was a gift brought by my sister from New Zealand. it always catches light.