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I was visiting Washington Irving’s home Sunnyside in Tarrytown New York for the second time, back in 2017. It was October, and they were having a festival and home tour at his estate. There was a booth set up with various activities, and one of them was creating a poem from scraps of paper. So mine was obviously centered around Irving’s most famous Headless Hessian of Sleepy Hollow.
The blue and orange glow of the fluorescent and incandescent lights of the city below,
Dot the ground in patterns like a Lightbright from my childhood.
I feel like the world is trying to tell me something in these patterns.
Like piles of gold, yellow, and blue glitter thrown onto the floor.
Their positions against the black,
The intensity of their shine,
Something to be read.
Like tea leaves stuck in the bottom of my cup.
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