But I hold them too dear
for that, dear.
In my visions of this world
(though I cannot see without a contact lens)
I still see them quite so clearly
as to feel their full effect,
like classical music
in a quiet place
that you find the most magnificent
with your eyes blind to the rest.

And, strangely,
it is always when you're farthest gone
that I wholly see what I have won.
For there it is -- still again --
the feeling of coming home,
in vain,
on the return.

Lights out
in Chicago.

I will try to eat up darkness like
a lamb
and be the child who holds the glass
to burn the leafy vine of grass
that, ever,
tries my neck to find
and always
seeks to wrap and bind

and murder what I am.