Underlight

by Stephen Malin


If leaf and overgrowth
are gone and but a trace
of blown snow stays, or none,
no clouds and the sun right over,
or even the moon sometimes
if it’s full with the night clear,
just then and only will a fissure
high in the ceiling of the cavern
admit perhaps for half a winter hour
at the far end of the rock pool
a gentle ledge
and spill of light
lime white
cave-blind
a few water creatures in
as many minutes will have drifted
toward the strange renewal
to float within its stay.