"You know, Sir, this looks much better with my glasses off."
"You put your glasses back on, Euchariah, and face facts!"
~ Dr. Seuss
There is no differentiation between, say,
strands of dark hair, in the dark,
or on the high terrace, tree-tops
in the gulfs between the night-lamps --
So many stars of unknown origin,
seen from light-years ahead in time.
Hours of glowing dawn,
of day's unyielding scrutiny,
no more than footlights' glare;
when you realize you're standing just inside
the momentary flare, and looking out
perceive no difference in the shadows
of the crowd, no breath,
and no distinction there:
Come down to earth
and lose the scale of it.
I don't think I can stand on your high terrace
in the night, with the darkened room behind,
and cool air breathing all around
without each time considering
the way the sky's black paint bleeds
and blurs the lines
between the spaces of the room, and
that greater space outside.
Where each obscurity becomes
a possibility.
Close your eyes:
what you can't see is limitless.
