Robert Krut The 2River View, 7.4 (Summer 2003)
Homecoming’s Light

I don’t know why I came back.
In the daylight, everything here has thin, translucent skin—
the words beneath reversed.

I can peel the mountain’s flesh, touch the text underneath.
Everything speaks of regret in daylight.
There are letters forming inside my fingernails.

I know I’ve tricked myself before.
I know the way eyes glass over
looking back, realizing you’ve done something wrong.
I know how to forget.

I wanted to be good—
here, the light reminds me I’m not.
It won’t let me forget anything.

I reach up, take the sun in my palm.
I want that darkness, and it is dark
except for my glowing hand.

Moon over the mountains, I pull my arm back,
throw the sun through that green hole.

I am home,
forgotten and new.

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