Neil Flory is the author of mudtrombones knotted in the spill (Arteidolia Press, 2023). Nominated for a 2023 Pushcart Prize by swifts & slows, Flory’s poetry has also appeared in various other journals such as Superpresent, Sleet, shufPoetry, Down in the Dirt, and Fleas on the Dog. Flory is also a composer of experimental music and a pianist whose enthusiasm for improvisation in live recital settings knows no bounds. He lives among the wooded hills and lakeshores of Western New York State with his wife, published poet and fiction writer Elaine Flory, and their three hyperactive cats.
Light
Paradox/miracle of afternoon light through bare branches
Hope/death of Hope, like trying to cross the raging river on
a thin cracking log barely stretched from bank to crumbling
bank
Here we are in the midst of it, but we can’t harmonize
an intimation
My single shadow interwoven with the countless forest-shadows,
another constant from the ancients (I notice them every day despite
our cheap technology, ever erroneously exalted, popular myths of its
distinctions flashing vivid high definition across screens the
size of continents)
And each found himself in his own subterranean tunnel.
Dim lamps every fifteen feet or so, significant gaps in their
coverage. Leading to who knows where. The belly of the
mountain stretches on, our path until discovering a fabled shaft
of light instantly the spark shift as even the thought brings it all
blazing back, the leafless giants, twining myriads of shadow-dances,
cool spring air on the back of the neck and blessed steep resistance
of the hill again immersed, in this midst.
And finally what does it matter if yes, it soars too far above
our understanding’s reach? Perhaps that was never our true
harmony in this at all, stagnant mirage shining instead to
futile long distraction in divergent heat.
No, we won’t turn.
Step again now, in all trust; there won’t be another crack.
All you need now is to focus forward and balance, in fullest experience
we can harness of all resounding fact of every woven shadow rendering
in vivid sharp relief the miracle (yes, paradox unforgotten) of afternoon
light the size/scope/life of warmth of this whole open
vibrant world
