Carl Leggo


Where does that singing start, you know,

that thin sound-almost pure light? 

(Lorna Crozier)

once upon a time I saw light, 

counted colours, combed dictionaries

for modifiers, coined countless adjectives

to name light in poems, held in dark memory,

but I knew always the light I saw was 

the visible light only, its visibility rendering 

invisible the places where light begins, 

where it goes, since the whole wild experience 

of seeing seems to stop with the firm earth

but now I walk daily the dike that writes a thin

line between Lulu Island and the Fraser River,

and tune my skin to listen

to light’s lyrical lilt, sung in sun-washed,

moon-drawn, shadow-scribed lines,

resilient, resonant, measured without end