Daylight: poems by Matthew J. Andrews

















bullfinch, image by Oldiefan, on Pixabay



In the Beginning

I walk across the afternoon, advancing

ever forward while my soul retreats

into the primordial womb, trail waymarked

by a procession of wonders created

long before my weary bones

were formed from mounds of dirt:

the aria of birdsong, the low hum

of distant ocean, the gentle chime

of limbs in the breeze, the sky

stretched out as an amphitheater,

clouds breaking apart to reveal light,

that firstborn of all creation,

shining down on me: an atom,

a particle weightless in the symphonic

air, a speck of dust fluttering in the wind.


__________________


Daylight

I leave her sleeping in the darkness

of the room, step outside

and find a world not so different:

a forest whose life is smothered

by a thick blanket of snow;

a lake with oxygen choked

by a ceiling of frosted glass;

an endless horizon obscured

by the dense fog of winter’s shadow.

I sit for a long time in the silence,

watching the fire burning in my chest

evaporate as steam from my lips.

Then it happens: the sun emerges

from the world’s opening, a bird call

echoes between the trees, she awakens,

beckons me again with her song.



___________________




Matthew J. Andrews is a private investigator and writer whose poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Orange Blossom Review, Funicular Magazine, and EcoTheo Review, among others. His debut chapbook, I Close My Eyes and I Almost Remember, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He can be contacted at: matthewjandrews.com





August 2021 issue

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