Light is there
faintly
as through a linen curtain
drawn shut
So many words alive, unsettled
moving about with barely room for
one another, barely folding together enough
to make any real utterance
No civility
or reverence
Only harsh brutality, natural
like the first man
looking through flaming swords
Light barely perceived
illumination only enough
to penetrate and reveal a life
of true and utter darkness
Locusts and Wild Honey 