Searching in the Dark
When I close my eyes
I look for you—
the light in dark places—
and, sometimes, I see black:
the backs of my eyelids
inscribed with the gray-green shadow
of whatever object just left my vision
until that, too, fades.
What, then, does it mean
to look for you in dark places?
I look around, and I see light—
shining off the edge of my teacup,
sparkling in the hair of a friend,
lighting single blades in a sea of grass—
and I wonder
is it in these places that you speak?
Because if it’s there—
the comfort of tea,
the warmth of a friend,
the joy in the grass—
then what of you is left
behind my eyes?
What of you is left when it’s just you
in the dark.
And how do I know you are there?
How do I know
that you see me
when all I see is
Can you see in the dark?
And if you are light
will I still see you
with my eyes closed?
What if my hands are open and my feet are bare?
–excerpt from A Good Way Through