Nothing More Mysterious

Two ‘predators’–a wolf and a fox–and the shaft of light that has them mesmerized. I don’t know who they are.

I don’t recall if I have said much here about archetypes, but they show up here all the time. Some symbols are so widely used that they are near enough universal for our purposes. You should not have to know me or anything about me to make sense of the work I am doing, if you know just a bit of traditional folklore or poetry. ‘Archetype’ is mainly a particular word for ‘there it is again; I might be starting to understand what it means.’ It also means the original, of which all others are copies.

8 March 2021

8

The Shaft of Light

The porch light stayed on through the rain and the howling

of winter in form of a wolf and a fox

frustrated with outpouring rage and the solemn

idea that what would next exit the box

they themselves lately barely escaped from–would finish

the journey they’d only just started this night.

Why would she stand staring out of her window?

What if she finally shut off the light?

Predators menace and vultures go wheeling

above in a circle that rolls like an egg

on an uneven table, a sky dressed for meals of

the kind she’s invited to be, not to beg

to be spared–for the hunger that’s starting to raven.

Whether the wolf or the fox finds her first,

they will be saddened to find they still haven’t

assembled a meal–not till all their lungs burst

for the power of what they’ve been keeping inside them.

The glory of song–how it shone in the night,

so attractive to those best acquainted with hiding

away from the least slant of difficult light–

How it shines from the porch, with the door standing open.

How she appears to be staring at naught.

How you must wonder–but don’t seek to know what

she’s hearing: That light will go off like a shot.

About J

formal verse poetry and commentary at rainharp.com
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