The Eclat of Sunlight in January

Sometimes I steal a look into the garden
Just outside my tall double-windows
Where beyond stand the city and trees

And I can’t tell the difference
Except to hear the faintest cries from the former
And smell the tangy sap of the latter

And a perfect tear of rain falls into the crease of my outstretched palm
As the austere skies commit a clerical error
To imagine I have roots or cistern-walls

And I can barely feel the tremble
Of a hundred billion grass-blades pushing
To stretch another millimeter closer to the sun

And a breeze carries many tunes through the windows
Wrought with many keys many rhythms
All the ancient glory of dead stars

And I lean back in my fat armchair
As I imagine many other creatures do in theirs
Sometimes in the afternoons of winter.

---

Wythe Marshall, Age 17
Chamblee Charter High School
Chamblee, Georgia
Teacher: Lynn Farmer