Living things don't all requirelight in the same degree. Some of usmake our own light: a silver leaflike a path no one can use, a shallowlake of silver in the darkness under the great maples.But you know this already.You and the others who thinkyou live for truth and, by extension, loveall that is cold.

LamiumMigraine dreams, jagged seams,A badge of love and pain.Or dreamy eyes, sleepy eyes,Drooping, closing, losing light.Packages scattered under the tree,Some torn open, some tied tight.Is there a heartbeat in those purple veins?Are those embryos or mouths or rosary beads?The color of my first dress, gathered with love,Fairy cups stirred with blades of grass,notes clustered on a windy score,Three blooms, three friends, alas!Grape flowers, cloud flowers, love flowers,Paper parasols upside down, a butterfly herdStopped to rest by a deep green pool.Petals small as a child's tears good-bye,Dropped stitches everywhereFrom a blanket the color of sky.