The value light confers is not a currency.
There’s no exchange rate for these effects
on the underside of leaves or clouds.
There is nothing quantifiable.
It’s as if a soundtrack’s being put together
without recourse to rhythm or chords.
Passers-by are a family with child slung up
on fatherly shoulders, a perky-tailed dog
that’s sneaking in and out of refuse deposits.
Crossing the long vista of a street,
I’ll have to wait where only a few nights ago
I was stopped by the police.
That was a routine incident.
The shop’s open. It stays open all night.
Image: Marina Shiderova; text: Tom Phillips