HOW, UNDERWATER?

When they ask you to,

you turn on a fluorescent bulb:

an artificial mockery of healing light

bright

but not alive like flame

or stars

(which are only flame anyways, I suppose)

 

The alive of the light

coems soft and warm

from sunbursts and sunbeams and sunlight

when you open up the sunroof

and I feel it warm my face

my smile

 

Stars are flame

the sun is a star

the sun is alive

the sun is infectious

a viral light

 

When people wear sunglasses,

I wish that they wouldn't

or didn't

or couldn't

 

Instead, I thank you

for letting all the light

into the room of tinted windows

that I've been given

to live in.

This poem is about: 
Me

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