The sun looms—almost too generously,
heavy hands on my eyelids.
I unveil my hot eyes,
lashes loom as dark timberlines
a forest flooded with bent light
and a cracked blue mirror of sky,
a white web which has caught
corners of purple and gold, maybe pink:
a stranged glass window
set in the shadowy cathedral of my body.
I sit up, open my eyes to an overexposed world,
more than I can see. I veil the lenses once again.
Then open — fractured, abundant light,
close them — the Ghost of the Sun
lingering in the darkness while I wait
to see all the light there is to see.
All it takes is an eye
or two.