The light gets in

By John Tustin

How is it?
How is it
That there are no visible openings,
No cracks,
No fissures –
Yet the light always gets in.
The light,
Always seems to get it –
Swirling a little bit with the dust,
Insinuating into the grooves and the channels
With a dunning subtly.

Like a boy gone to war
Who comes back a man –
Something dead inside me,
Standing stoic in the sunlight
And trying not to blink.
It seems I am not quite solid
And also not really broken.
I am almost sealed
But there are fractures in the walls
Imperceptible to human eye or concept
That is how the light gets in
To dwell in the darkness that deigns to define me.

John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals over the last dozen years. contains links to his published poetry online. 

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