Sunday Sunlight

Picture: Samedi, Bastille by Manuel Leonardi




Watch it fall on the trees

Like oil on smooth, brown skin.

Watch it provide a frame

For bird-talk mingled with song,

The song of a foreign tongue.


The Silence Underneath All Sounds

Easily sifts through the mesh

Of physicality;

Matter beautifully

Questions itself, its own reality.


A ruffled magpie lands tentatively

Among jolly cooings and flapping wings,

Then off again! While woodpigeons,

Plump and majestic, tilt their way

To Nature’s everpresent buffet.


A slow, delicate wind, carrying

Molecules of pleasant nature


Across green slides

Of grass intermittently, harmonically.


That’s when the nightingale

Fades in and out of the hedges,

Like a vision unseen

By the francophone au-revoir

Unfolding beneath maple, linden, and thorn.


City streets and alleys waive their drumming


Leaving room for peace


And Sunday sunlight.



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