The lack of luminance outside the room reflects the dark inside,
Pitted lack of substance and image
Against a backdrop of glass.
Enter softly, quietly and loving,
Pierce the outer blackened barrenness
With flesh, and life and gentle, moving sound.
The archetypes of globes and revolving suns become
Lightbulbs and switches
As dials turn towards the dawn.
I stare to see the mirror of an opened pane
Slide down and show the impossible gravitation of suspended lights
Grow closer and nearer and brighter
As the portrayal gains heat and ozone from before my eyes
Comes crackling from behind.
Some careless, Godless hand with no eyes
Or hearing or faith in beauty shuts off,
Tears and rends through the dream to premature harsh wakenings,
For the purpose
Of saving electricity.
No one near at hand knows why I cry,
Like a softly flickering mass of melting cello and bow,
"They have died, they have died, they have died."