Joe Pacheco

I thought at first

The cataracts had come back –

the sun glinting cold and yellow

over the tennis courts

brought out the Boll glasses.

Nor was noon better –

the sun still low and stuck in time

as I drove on the causeway

to and from

the mainland mall madness,

gray gulf and sky,

whatever shred was left of day

shrouded in jaundiced twilight.

For once I was relieved

to see night begin

with Venus burning bright

and low like a jetliner

and even lower on the horizon –

the thin crescent of moon

slivering into renewal.

From darkest day had come

most shining night

and on this longest night

of my longest year –

the promise

of ever-brightening days

waiting to rise

above my horizons.