last morning

The very light here hesitates.
Only a few green fringes
fingering the still, green hour

move. “Here” is an aperture
where every pulse unhinges
awe. Everything waits.

Even whispers
could break this,
a brusque breath in.

We’re a suspended motion
in the stasis
where light occurs.

Isabel Chenot

Isabel Chenot has loved old stories and poetry all her remembered life. Recent work has appeared in Vita Poetica, Ekstasis, Story Warren, and The Society of Classical Poets, among other places. Some of her poems are collected in The Joseph Tree, available from Wiseblood Books.