☀ Today's Poem: "Toys Turned on a Lathe" Alice Fulton

Here in the north of north
everything was formed by what ice did
to the land, and darkness is redundant.
Night fills each mullion,
pressing itself into each
corner of each pane.
Like time it is everywhere
and has no edges. I sense
there's something large
that doesn't love us well.
Is it officious as chancellor? It is
an omniscience == a big think
piece that must I think consort
with wickedness.
But I am not its invigilator.

If I dim the inside, night will thin
and let me glimpse the quaking
forms outside. I find you
must create a likeness of
the dark for dark
to disappear. It requires a certain obeisance?
If it senses kinship it will yield ==
though only the spinning
iron crystal at earth's core
could be more noir. There is a power
at large that doesn't love us well.
It has a knowledge,
though I am not its proctor.

Everything here was formed by what ice did
to the mind. This is dark thinking.
Light might think
there's so much try to you. Stop crying.
In this interglacial moment,
you're in good flesh. Nox is nothing
but a sealed ark of ornaments.
When day breaks full of details
safe as toys turned on a lathe,
light predicts the innocent
will have a constellation named for them
as they any minute should.
There is darkness still behind the dark.
There is darkness. Still behind the dark
there might be shining on all sides.