Here's a cento to celebrate our recent "stunning win"--click on each line to be taken to the source text.
Light Reading Always the light recedes; with groping hands light reaches through a leaf, falls branch to branch, leaf to leaf, down to the ground. Light sinks and rusts how all matter dissolves, eventually, into energy: the moon will soon shine further than sunshine could. How long ago the day is. Sometimes a light surprises, a special kind of dark called light, the darkness thinking the light, ordinary light. When the light appears, boy, when the light appears-- how pleasant the yellow butter. Light the first light of evening, as in a room in the flickering candlelight, a window, from which you can see clouds better than people, black pine tree in an orange light. We point at the moon with one finger, and hold it up to the light of night and light and the half-light of other days around me.Shannon Holman, AT Poet Laureate Our remarkable poet laureate, Shannon Holman, is away in Indonesia for a few months of R&R. In the meantime, we'll be revisiting her earliest meditations. This one goes all the way back to February, 2005. Enjoy!