|Photo by Ann Laudati|
Icy white curves of pure sunshine
come through the white lace curtain
surprised, as if the Sun
had tumbled into a clothes dryer
full of lace undies.
I can’t fully see the day,
She is so veiled, so disguised
in honeycombs of lace,
lace petals of flowers,
filigrees and tendrils,
flirtatious as flickering flame
even though the glass is frozen.
It’s twenty degrees today, even at the beach,
January. A world white as lace,
and hiding something too, maybe hiding a year,
a whole new year, a brand new number,
the world not quite discernible
beyond the sheer lace curtain,
January delicate and lovely, thin as lace.
The Sun, as bright as He can be,
happily cascading into white roses of lace,
caught in time, in January’s sheer wonderment,
the unknowing, the promise of the future,
beyond somewhere, waiting.
January 17, 2009