LIGHT
Ashok Niyogi
Remind me,
I am talking of Delhi and not Moscow
Not wake-up calls through wooden slats
In a suburban San Francisco window,
Not dappled sunlight up Yosemite way.
A painter would have caught
This scraggly light between the pines
This beautiful slanting morning light
When everything is soothing,
Nothing is bright.
But poets have no vision you see---
They just write poetry.
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