Radiants

Radiants – Glyn Hughes

When the larks fly off –
not singly ascending but, at summer’s end,
nests abandoned, in a flock
swift, low over fields –
tiles of light are scattered on their wings
as if some brightness up there has been shattered.

I fancy that in such scraps of light
our insights come, the grace of words
like an old church window perhaps,
one smashed by the envious worldly,
its fragments lying in muck on the floor.
Or like a bright river glimpsed through trees:
eyes in a quiver of wind,
water sighs rippling after, out of shade.

An old poem that came back to mind recently. I first read it years ago and the imagery stuck with me – the “tiles of light” – but I couldn’t figure out which poem it was or find it again until years after, when I came across a scribble in a college notebook.

Always looking for those scraps of light.

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