
I take a sunrise photo
And find the glorious orb
Diminished by poor photography,
& upstaged by a flaring pigeon.

I take a sunrise photo
And find the glorious orb
Diminished by poor photography,
& upstaged by a flaring pigeon.
Who are you, reader, reading my poems my poems an hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring,
one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.
Open your doors and look abroad.
From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories
of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before.
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning,
sending its glad voice across an hundred years.

A small arc of sun
stands above the trees
Like the tufts of hair
that give away the
hiding boy who can’t
judge hairdo height.
The next time I turn around,
I see Sun -- fully out and
stalking up behind me,
looming larger.
The ocean vast
closes in.
Clouds drop.
If the horizon still exists,
it's behind an approaching
wall of gray.
Whatever is closing down
the world has also
drained it of color.
The shadows are black.
The sea foam is white.
Everything else is
some dim, earthy tone.
The sea may have retained
a hint of green or blue,
but it's hard to tell --
so darkened &
gray-infused
are the waters.
I fear the world may shrink
to a dot, like an old timey TV
snapped off, a dot that's
bright white but cold.
Rangikura: Poems by Tayi Tibble