towards a silver light. An oval eye.
Not a door or window or portal
with light beckoning from without.
Shiny like new aluminum pots, or
a star’s inner heart. She resisted,
part of her did, the edge of wonder,
the catapult of emotions flung freely
from a galaxy unnamed, unnumbered.
The tip of a feather. The distant onk
onk of geese who no longer migrate.
The rush of fresh water towards
a salted sea. A woman sings a song into
the eye of a rising sun, knowing it won’t
see her for what she is, could care less
if her irises melted, or her vision be
shrouded in perpetual darkness.
No wonder without wonderers. Sing away! – mh clay