Just when I've gotten home,
a little stooped, lacking in reserves,
it sometimes catches me off-guard:
a late day sun beaming
almost horizontal
through the windowpanes.
 
The darkening front rooms
of the house crouch,
transfixed around
a dense yellow shaft or two
and suddenly I notice
a refraction,
physics in a rainbow,
light scattered by a flaw of glass.
I play my fingers
through its fan of hues.
Transient, so transient.
Then I'm assured
what light is left for me
still radiates to many paths,
each in its own way bright.


© by Eric Forsbergh.
Used with the author's permission.