Shards of light, there is one thing I beg,
That you leap over that horizon, pierce this window
And stroke the cheeks of my pillowed head.
Let your incandescent beauty outshine thought
And last night will weigh less than even a memory
And if that memory shall not fade, it will at least distort.
Because at the moment it is still a sharp knife
That is being driven deep into the shoulder of my soul,
Not a deadly wound, yet excruciating and slow.
And should the wound begin to heal, I can tell
The wielder of my knife's heft will make it twist and turn
So that my eyes glaze , so that my mind swells
Sleepless in bed, there is none to pull that knife out,
And I wonder if the hole will ever seal, or If I will disappear
Should my emotions pour through and cause a drought.
