Monday, April 25, 2016

The Bat

Darkness is never only darkness to me.
When sight, straining, resigns its role
to other senses, I sing my way,
caressing the night with my rippling voice,
and the blackness sings back, blooming with life.
Grasping the shape of graceful echoes
I pull them to me, pressing forward,
all of their bright beauty sublimely clear
in the feeling, hearing, flying, enfolding
dance of perception that dapples the night.
Don’t look—listen: the luminous dark
calls down the dawn of midnight.

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