As far as I can tell, this is the last poem I wrote, dated 2008. Since then I've been concentrating on novels and no idea for a poem has grabbed me by the lapels and demanded my attention. Chiaroscuro (kēˌärəˈsk(y)oŏrō) is a lovely Italian word that means "clear or bright and dark or obscure." It's a term used by artists to describe the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting; it's an effect of contrasted light and shadow created by light falling unevenly or from a particular direction on something. But you probably already knew that. I suppose this poem is my co-opt of "through a glass darkly," Paul's phrase in Corinthians that has always fascinated me.
Chiaroscuro
Like cataracts on ancient eyes,
like frost obscuring the windshield,
a transparent panel opaque with mineral salts
prevents my clear vision of the world.
Can I say to my soul
I don’t do windows?
