Poem for A.M.
Light break detected, radiating
erratic likeness meant as morning, or
the saying of it, new day, this simple acceptance
turns toward a meter for me to match
pure extension in the line. A vague grey
scale blurs shape from which no definition
invites sense, discloses the simple sums:
legs, hips, subject, tense, coasts, if, how
its humming proposed itself to me
self-evident as intermittent in pulse
beyond the frame. Unweighted, hanging light
before speech totalizes. Aubade, heard.
Repels slight disturbances first-person
privilege lays claim to. The forward arc,
mimicry, I trace it wrong, unhinged to
slight quickening, the flow driven in deep,
reaching thought’s inshore, silver elides
holding patterns circling imitation,
press my face against the glass, dissolve.
Trace light flashes among linen,
to communicate this taut realism,
cantilevered, hanging form, a stairway
without top or bottom, supremely okay with
uselessness, now I create a doorway
with dizziness I can do it, stirring
a song stretching the limit. Phosphenes to
Point Reyes, the sclera of the eye—
ocular extremities extend to
convert wavelengths, in expectations,
gestural approximations, glimpse
hums an answer teal, a swatch of color
placed before sense, but evidence enough
for me, a world three inches away
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About the Author
Daniel Baker was born in San Francisco. He earned an MFA in poetry from Brooklyn College in 2020, and lives in New York City.
