Light's patterns freeze: <br />Frost on our faces. <br />Light's pollen sifts <br />Through the lids of our eyes ... <br /> <br />Light sinks and rusts <br />In water; is broken <br />By glass ... rests <br />On deserted dust. <br /> <br />Light lies like torn <br />Paper in corners: <br />A rock-pool's pledge <br />Of the sea's return. <br /> <br />Light, wrenched at the edges <br />By wind, looks down <br />At itself in wrinkled <br />Mirrors from bridges. <br /> <br />Light thinly unweaves <br />Itself through darkness <br />Like foam's unknotting <br />Strings in waves ... <br /> <br />Now light is again <br />Accumulated <br />Swords against us ... <br />Now it is gone. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Stephen Fryer<br /><br />Arthur Seymour John Tessimond<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cinema-screen/
