Sunspilling

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I was liking mornings;

six o clock under the streetlamps gold

and I could see the stars.

Then they saved daylight

and I lost my way, because the streetlamps went off

and the sun came on

much too bright

and the streets weren't gold anymore

just dirty grey

and there were no stars.

We live in a world made of mirrors,

which are prettier empty or moonlit

and we live in a world of eyes open wide

and it hurts to look at the sun.

I've looked for unicorns

and I've looked for stars in your eyes

and in my own

and under the sun I've thought that

at least, in the dark, I can't see

what isn't there.

The sun in my window flashes on the paper

but my hand, still,

spills shadow over the words as I write.

I can see in the dark.

Light is more difficult.

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