Sunlight

One of my curious obsessions is with the colours that sunlight makes when coming through a forest canopy. This poem is only another example of many on this subject, and I doubt it will be the last.

Amber

The sunlight, viscous as pine pitch, enfolds
The wold’s vain, struggling, insect limbs, and holds
Them fast, though frantic still, as sap-light sets
To amber hardness, and transluscence lets
This moment keep its frenzied, golden poise,
Though time all other things destroys.

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1 comment
  1. John Jantunen said:

    This moment keep its frenzied, golden poise

    This just might be my favourite line from all the poems that you have written. Gave me goosebumps anyway. Nicely done.

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