wake up—screaming
to notice
so many
of the same
things—from the vastness
of clean
sky, to the
crowded
mantelpiece
that needs
dusting—inevitable
things, resolute
and reassuring, all those
colored
pictures of
the way
things once were, have
been, ought
or need
to be—that
most days, the absolute
hardest and most
unimaginable thing you
could do
would be to
shut your eyes
and make-
believe—that you actually
don't see.
That you're
not being
constant-
ly reassured by the
light. That,
instead of knowing
inside-
out, every
scene that you're in—
that for one god-
blessed
second, your
whole world
is both—
dramatically
empty,
and heroically
full
of things—you
and heroically
full
of things—you
don't understand.