TEKLED

One glass, five ways to hang it.
Five globes on a stem, three across the island, one over the table, one at the basin, a pair down the hall.
The family is the glass, never the finish.
By us.

A lantern under the portico, hung on its chain.
Clear glass, one warm filament, the door lit like it matters.

A pair over the counter, opal glass capped in oak.
Ribbed to carry the light the whole length of the worktop.
By us.

Bollards down the lawn path, one after the other.
Low light, cypress shadows, the house waiting at the end.
By us.

Brass and opalescent glass, dropped down the stairwell.
Lit from within, scale by scale.
The way up, all evening.

A clear cylinder on the veranda wall.
Light up, light down, the sofa in between.
Summer evenings, extended.

A pleated shell above the desk.
Every fold takes a little of the light and gives it back.
The quiet hours.

Three twists in a row along a blind wall.
Up and down, a rhythm you read from the water.
The facade, dressed for the evening.

A globe of golden mesh over the long table.
The filament reads through the weave, the glow lands soft on walnut.
By us.

A small cube on a dark wall, aimed up.
One clean wash of light, the rest of the night left as it is.