The Lesser Light
The Lesser Light
Yesterday the talk was no clouds,
not a cloud to be seen, won’t life
be great from here on out . . .
Overcast this morning. Half-light weighs down
the bricks and stones standing watch
over Dartmouth and Stuart.
In yesterday’s light the cream façade
of New England Power’s eleven stories
seemed lighter than air, lightly tethered,
as if the whole structure might float off
into the blue brilliance on the myriad
glass of the Hancock, which appeared
as a focusing lens held against the sky
but now juts from the ground, a monolith
of marine depths, profound viridian
wherein the Westin regards itself darkly.
The sky, one inscrutable cloud, condenses
the daylight with a defining dimness.
Somehow in this lesser light things
appear more like what they are.