Lux in Obscurum
Location
We’re losing light by seconds and sounds
With it dimming are the stars, the sunlight, the fluorescent street lamps lining the streets
With each blast of darkness
A part of me passes
Fading through a velvet curtain
I see my premonitions disturbed
From that pure white light
Bright enough to guide a path
To a disgruntled gray
Pouring through the loose strands of wise men
Finally resting in a black bed
Through that dark ink swimming across the page
But imagine—who doesn’t simmer as those inked words lift off that page
As they settle in your body through your inhale
A bright bulb glows as an interrogation begins
Why must I fear what others crave?
Why can’t I indulge myself with a bit of poetry, of words?
Is it necessary for the wise to hold my hand?
leading me through a dance, gripping the hand laying on theirs
It stops —the dance disturbed by a new rhythmic drum
Castanets playing on the crevices of my palm
The percussion swims through the caves of my fingers
Intertwining and knotting itself at my knuckles
Instead of an anchor hooking me in and tugging me along
Instead of a ball-and-chain clutching me as I shuffle forward
I feel a ribbon in my hands
As you stand shoulder to shoulder, and hip to hip
Like a child in the store, glass eyed I pull you towards the shiny new toy
But rather than hear the click and retract of the leash—
You follow.
Which when I see your eyes glisten as you find what you love
I step behind and let you lead
Because even though I’m afraid of the dark
And losing myself in its grasp
The darkness doesn’t seem so dreadful
As long as I’m allowed to bring you.