WHEN LIGHT LEAVES
Drenched in sea glass
blue, cloud contours faintly drawn,
the artist’s hand shakes:
hard to sketch
wisps of heaven.
Apricot skin sky seconds before
sunset, the orb slides silently
under the wave crests.
Colors deepen, myriad hues
and blues, there can never be
too many blues:
sea, sky, sea,
your eyes. Three grey clouds emerge,
stretch out lithely on an unseen shelf,
parallel to the measureless horizon.
One tiny white cloud,
top left corner from my perch
on the beach. A perfect triangle:
my line of sight the hypotenuse,
holding disparate pieces,
heart shards, splintering.
Ann Bookman has had poems published in Chronogram, Larcom Review, Dogwood: A Journal of Poetry and Prose, and Soul-Lit: A Journal of Spiritual Poetry, among others. In 2012, she published a chapbook, Point of Attachment, with Finishing Line Press. Her first full-length collection, Blood Lines, is forthcoming in 2022 from Kelsay Books.