refulgence
Published in
Nov 28, 2022
I am not ready for Christmas lights.
My soul is black: it’d grip by too much refulgence
I should stay in bed,
crouched in my swarming world
under the blanket.
I should becloud
My brain against famine and thirst.
I might stand still until
The benign gaze will alight upon me, looking at me
At last.
I ought to get to the bottom of the torment
To hand me back to the meaning of my being in the world.
I am waiting for that adventitious embrace
I am waiting for that slow dissolution that
Returns the taste of life:
I consume myself to come back to you.
