eyes, do I still
exist?—perhaps
in Plato's sense
that a shadow exists:
both
in the absence
and because of
the light? And
in my diminished state,
will I fear
the brave sun, who,
despite
the benevolent
look on his face,
shall not be denied,
long-deceived,
or obscured?
In the dark, I can
feel the right and
ruinous effulgence
of the voice of that star,
which is above
all admonition,
like a thunderbolt—
cracking huge blocks
of form and matter
extant in my mind
into slivers of
this essence,
which I,
thus accosted, must
open my eyes
if I ever hope
to measure.
