only a few types
of light are illuminating;
the rest
are either blinding—
or else,
they distract.
Far from catalyzing
our impetus
to act,
we're astounded
to suddenly find ourselves
diverted
and gawking at
brilliance
through sentimental cataracts.
And worse,
before we even know
what we're doing,
we'll wheel
and point avidly
at horizons' warmest
and most effulgent spots
and repeatedly
swear to our children
there's a heaven,
even though
we can see it
when their eyes
close—there's definitely
not.
