Cleaving Light sun blinks above a band of dove-grey cloud. descending to an early horizon, she turns her strange manifesting on me. streams glint through the V of maple boughs; leaves flicker at a value approaching zero. I am in her beam, angled for the downcast eyes of Mary, for Bryn Celli Ddu at solstice, for the canyon growing deep and marked behind me—held by what I cannot grasp. frequencies dance my eyes —I am what she makes—real/ eluding, the hawk now drifting. her tilt to wane skimming my brow, my muttered stay, as sky fills up with night.
Kathryn Knight Sonntag is the author of the poetry collection The Tree at the Center (BCC Press, 2019). She has recent and forthcoming poems in Psaltery & Lyre, Abstract Magazine, The Curator, and the anthology Blossom as the Cliffrose (Torrey House Press, 2021). She works as a landscape architect in Salt Lake City, Utah. www.kathrynknightsonntag.com