In our living room at night,
curtains drawn, a light
creeps over the rug,
widens around
a magazine stand.
How suddenly darkness
can appear, light too.
The inexplicable enters
when we’re in the bathroom
or looking for tin foil. Is this
the god I’ve been told about,
the one I sometimes wait for?
Or a part of myself, a secret
I forgot to tell anyone,
now made visible. By morning
the light’s gone. I open
the curtain–the sun,
vague behind fog, barely
reaches the window.
Kenneth Pobo (he/him) is the author of twenty-one chapbooks and nine full-length collections. Recent books include Bend of Quiet (Blue Light Press), Loplop in a Red City (Circling Rivers), and most recently, At The Window, Silence (Fernwood Press). His work has appeared in Asheville Poetry Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Amsterdam Quarterly, Nimrod, Mudfish, Hawaii Review, and elsewhere.
I’m on Blue Sky and Facebook.