Caught the Light
Out of focus, lens cap lacking, the raindrops turning
lamp light explosions, rendered a Skeena Fall's red hue,
a barrier coral's shade of ocean depth, and the
thousand pigments held in Kamchatka's frozen ground,
was the way you caught the light.
Auburn, tree trunk melody of tapping wind whistles,
conspired a conjure rise of possibility; feline
string pulled in taught constriction, close to burning
from two smooth-rubbed sticks, stepping to night's frigid breath
was when you caught the light.
From witching hour's twinkle-sway, romantic constructions
of past-pot and Popsicle stick could be made
beneath the haze of adolescent drippy desire,
but never that, something in elegance ageless,
was how you caught the light.
Evergreen fragrance and champagne flutists I swam
about, parting bodies seeming sewn in thatched pattern,
heedless charge in charity shop shoes and high school
dress coat, though I could reach closer and be within:
the way I wish we caught the light.