...the junk drawer of my mind... look if you want. you might find dreams scraps (maybe featuring you?), poem scraps, ideas unformed or abandoned, dried out sharpie pens, 37 cent stamps, lies and red-herrings, lip-gloss and assorted dangling and/or misplaced modifiers.
Friday, February 22, 2008
our shadow
We Grow Accustomed to the Dark
We grow accustomed to the Dark --
When light is put away --
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye --
A Moment -- We uncertain step
For newness of the night --
Then -- fit our Vision to the Dark --
And meet the Road -- erect --
And so of larger -- Darkness --
Those Evenings of the Brain --
When not a Moon disclose a sign --
Or Star -- come out -- within --
The Bravest -- grope a little --
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead --
But as they learn to see --
Either the Darkness alters --
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight --
And Life steps almost straight.
Emily Dickinson
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