The Only Thing that Changes Is the Light
by Quincy R. Lehr
We’re back into the dream, on city streets
where sleepers mutter slogans as they sit
and pantomime a steering wheel while snoring
on a listless bus’s upper deck.
The only thing that changes is the light.
The only thing that changes is the light
that permeates the mist we don’t quite feel
though it cocoons the monuments and clothes
hanging, sodden, from our leaden limbs.
It’s softer when we look from far away.
It’s softer when we look from far away
and through improper lenses from an old
prescription made for slightly sharper eyes,
wide open and attentive to the flashes
blending into a glow as they recede.
Blending into a glow as they recede,
the stars dissolve to streetlights, headlights, night-lights.
We lip-synch history as we pass through
the thoroughfares that memory reroutes.
Familiar features alter into strangers’.
The only thing that changes is the light.
It’s softer when we look from far away.
Blending into a glow as they recede,
familiar features alter into strangers’.
