After AH’s “Sonnet 7/11”

For the Impossible
By Robert Savino Oventile

Withdrawing luminosity’s veil,
light unfurls shadow,
where, in darker sightings,
black becomes raven; and red, crimson.

On a street corner,
under noon’s blue dome,
stands Henri Rousseau,
playing his violin, imagining.

Needing ever fewer photons,
sight ventures toward plushest shade,
as if the eye could receive
what the sun cannot show.