At the Equinox
—on painter-friend Lynn’s Vermeer
We enter a room filled with human things.
Light has gotten there first through the slightly
opened window, claimed a wall, and begun
playing games with friend, rival, offspring, Shadow.
Shadow thinks it will win this contest. It has taken
over most of the heaped coverlet, almost all
of the dark blue-black cookie jar. A small broom
has whisked the last whisk of the day.
Light still holds the wall, but the Black Knight
is about to cry “Check” yet, Vermeer insists Time,
like light, sometimes is a wave, sometimes a packet
existing for a moment as moment. This now is now.
By Nils Peterson
2026
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