Tell all the truth but tell it slant
–Emily Dickinson
::
that certain slant of light doesn’t tell us much,
and since we can’t touch its warmth the whole
truth is not yet known. they tell you we revolve,
that it absolves us. baptizes us in fire and burns
off things unsaid. they say we’re spinning and
getting closer day by day. they warn that things
are warming. they crow louder than the roosters
that greet it, meet it with their loudest caw. they
claw their way to power under its more hidden
hours. we know it lends light to the moon. we
know it’s food for plants, and thought. we know
it’s caught up in the ways a flower falls, a long
day fades. we watch it rise, a phoenix. we catch
it plopping into sea. we hold it hostage, lozenge
on our hungry tongues. they tell you its stories in
brightest hue. but they never tell you if they’re true.
::
In April, we poem.
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