The Dark

 

Suddenly, hands are all you have
to pull the draped curtains of the room apart  

and greet the moonlight. What is certain
becomes clear with only streetlamps

and the spaniel tied to a tree, barking
two houses down: too much light blinds us,

or at least fools us into thinking
we cannot look the great Answer in the eye

nor conquer it. We can. So I whisper
to the wind embarking on its return

to coast: how I like the moon
reminding us that at night, it is knowledge

that pursues us. Easy to look
with a clear mind. To commit

to memory this room—
this small box of table and chair

and bed—or those laughing children
outside who you can’t believe are chasing each other

at this hour (strange how no one
has ever thought that a ghost

may be happy; but forget it).
Easy tonight to think of the Milky Way

as a new map to study. Regress into a time
when light didn’t travel—when we knew

that when we looked at constellations
they could look back at that very same moment. Let go

of the curtains now; step back into the dark.
Be careful of the furniture;

You are a giant here. 

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