Resolution

The cat jumps, a shadow falls from the wall
and pools on the floor
Not like the moon's but like itself, gibbous.
Into oscura, into what we fail to see
file fifers in time running on into meadows and on:
Can you blame them for seeing the beautiful use of things?
Good, the greater part of it, anyway, must somehow lay in
sanctioning useful delusion-
you, on whom these bloom and choir like birds,
isn't it so?
and you, maestro, strangely incredulous,
of shadow lorn as Venice at noonday,
living on garlic, numbers and sweat,
viewing even past blunders threads to a perfect eye,
say it is so it is so.

poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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