Bruised

Sunlight strains through a dust stained window,

Speckled in last spring’s dried raindrops.

Bruised shadows fan the entirety of a compromised chamber;

Not radiant, not luminous, not exactly dull, but – gentle and subdued.

They flicker as the sunlight plays with the stirring foliage outside

Like shadow puppets behind a calico screen.

I could cleanse the tainted glass;

Lift the burden from its smattered lens;

The light would then flood blindingly, naturally, dazzlingly,

But I have become accustomed to the bruised shadows,
And they trouble you not.

Those gentle bruised shadows, they dance for me.

© Strauss

2006

Image by David Evans