the way of light



A blind man
cupped my face
in his hands

pressed close to his breast
my eyes climbing large
                         a child i was
of mud and spittle
smeared crack

 for light resolving



i knew i knew
as if no one sees
my face drinking light
a bowl fills slowly so bright

as the sun clinging high
high

 and higher  still
ascending light embraced me- no chill
gray could delineate

day from day
light from light

A blind woman came
tapping tapping
forward open as dawn
we drink from a cup dissolving

A blind boy entered
famished singing for light
ran fingers seeking curious


gathered a coutenance soft
in sockets aching to fill
marked lips too small
to taste such bounty.

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