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D. H. Bleything

Absorbing Light

 

I'm sure that each day I absorb light

a good thing at my age

and store it, a translucent stone

on the hot sand.

 

Later, as my skin wears thin

I will let it out through cracks

at the elbows and the knees,

and especially through the eyes.

 

Those who notice will look away

it's not what they thought

showing for a moment, a glance

perhaps just a reflection.

 

I recollect my grandfather's surprising wit

the hot wick of a coal oil lamp.

And my daughter's burning feet over bright pavement

running toward the pool.

 

And today, another birthday,

still holding the light and wanting more,

as if taking a last breath

before diving in.

 

 

 

 

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