Sometimes the world is a river of darkness thrust behind a greater dark. Sometimes the world has forgotten what light is or what it feels like— A raven crows in the north and changes into a needle of balsam, so he can float upon the waters and be reborn in that kingdom where the stars and moon and sun have been held hostage. Prometheus steals fire from the gods, carrying it back to earth in a reed. It seems so easy to walk into a room, feel for a switch in the dark with our fingers, click a flashlight on. High in the mountains, nuns roll sheets of wax and honeycomb into tapers the faithful can light at their own altars— Think of the other stories about the ones who break into heaven to hide a stone fruit or sweetmeat in their mouths: what they risked for us to gain a world without shadows, rooms in which we live out our ordinary, everyday lives.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
