I think of the children who will never know, intuitively, that a flower is a plant’s way of making love, or what silence sounds like, or that trees breathe out what we breathe in.
Subscribe and Save up to 55%
It’s right here, in the darkness.
Stretch out your hands and stroke it.
Pet it, feel its soft form, strain
Your eyes and you can swear to yourself
That you see it.
It’s here, its curves are its rhythm.
Its darkness is its light. Fall into it
And feel how it sounds: see how it feels.
It is as true as your very blindness, the
Controlled chaos of your closed eyelids.
It is true. It changes, right before your
It wraps itself around yourself; yourself around
Itself — a hypnotist’s swirl of unending size.
As big as the darkness it blends with,
Becomes one with, that swallows you up and
Reach out, strain your eyes; it is present.