Morning Cough
(A.M. Light)On the corners of South Main
And East Fourth
Morning sunlight intersects shadows
In a junction of light and darkness
I cough from breathing the cold air
As I walk along Main Street and
Am surprised at how much
The sound reminds me of my father
Like a pen and ink sketch
Stark and winterbare trees
Set at regular and measured distance
Are lonely sentinels in an empty street
I remember his signature cough
That was his hello before he spoke
And a goodbye before he left
And am shocked at the source
Gray pigeons with white-tipped wings
Fly in a bank’s façade near sharp verticals
Of classical columns and long horizontals
Of cornice borders of light and shadow
A cough is reflex a thing outside of
Our control a spasm in the throat
A contraction of the lungs that speaks
To me now in the voice of my father
In the finely tuned contrast of morning
Just after sunrise shadows seem more alive
Than the things that cast them
At the intersection of light and darkness
Fog
At night
Tall buildings
In Chicago’s skyline
Are lit like Chinese
Paper lanterns
And seem to float up
Weightless like
Fog that
Drifts in
After 2 a.m.
Off Lake Michigan
To subdue brightness
And obscure form
At night
When darkness
Runs like liquid
Along Lakeshore Drive
Movements
In the cog wheels
And springs of spirit
There are workings
Too small and quick
To see
The mechanization of
Mustard seeds silent
Motion are dynamos that
Drive the Kingdom
Of God
Mechanisms too fine
To discern are the
Movements of the soul
Levers and gears
So Miniscule
Their purpose cannot
Be divined but
Remain puzzling and
Mysterious as the
Will of God
Lake Michigan
Lake Michigan is milky green marble
With veins of whitecaps foaming
>From shore to distant sky
Water rising and falling and rolling
Is alive with waves and boils
In constant motion
The horizon is a band of deep blue
That separates the pale green water
>From the soft blue hues of sky
In a lakescape speechless
Like a movie without sound
That plays muted movements
The gulls fly without call
And the wind is a mere whisper
Of film winding through a projector
As waves explode quietly white
On the breakwater that is the
Curved gray line that marks the shore
Like the silent soliloquy of a mute
Speaking the sign language of the deaf
Motion alone carries meaning |