Shaft of sunlight,
reflection off a million specks
of dust,
feeding his face with lines and grace
– soft light paints old faces
the friendliness of sweet Autumn apples –.
Hands held down to his grand-daughter,
she looking up into his face;
the delicacy of the moment
as Vermeer would have caught it
in the light that spills down
from a hole in the clouds.
No comments:
Post a Comment