root roof, rafter, porch rails.
Trees, even street lamps, vie for a space
in this busy, bright scrap of sky
with oblique reviews of pillar and post
every height, every breadth around.
When, again, light won’t come from within,
sun, whimsically riffled by wind, flashes
through roof slats
stippling poles with slashes of dizzying white,
shines right into windows
shape-shifting our old, mahogany walls
to a blush of revealed design.
Marin Friends Meeting (PYM)
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