Acute

Acute

In the hush of morning light,
an acute angle slices the sky—
sharp as a newly‑sharpened nib,
carving thin lines of geometry
across the parchment of clouds.

It is the acute pain that blooms
behind the eye after a night’s study,
a throbbing reminder that thought
can be as piercing as a needle’s tip.

Yet there is also the acute sense
that flickers when a scent of rain
drifts through an open window—
a sudden, vivid awareness
that the world is both fragile
and fiercely immediate.

So we learn to hold the acute
in tender balance:
to wield its sharpness without wound,
to let its clarity illuminate
the ordinary, making it
extraordinarily clear.