[Albedo]*
No stars, but the city lights
over-compensate at night–
this is still the world
of the living.
All these towers are lit up
in all sorts of hues,
incandescent warmth, white
and cool blues, as more
diffuse clouds come in over
the bay, and on their belly,
a feeble pink reflection–
the sky between is void,
matte and colorless,
an unanswered question,
a voice left hanging–
just think of a photon
traveling across the dark,
massless, unlike anything
we know, what a gift–
what a gift to receive,
and to give, like love,
in whatever capacity
we are able.
The streetlamp illuminates
the gingko tree, bathes it
in gold, and the leaves
return the favor, yellow
begetting the exact same yellow–
something rare, and simple,
and quietly notable.
*Just learned this word tonight! It means, roughly, the percentage of light reflected by a surface that received it. If you are fond of obscure words and not already following Sesquiotica, you should remedy that now.
OPTIONAL POETRY 