Too much becomes the world:
darkness swirls between iris and lid,
between ceiling and nose, to spinning
floor below head, back, knuckles, knees.

Rectangle glow around the door:
this eclipse should be overlooked,
for the black presses against the light
knocking on behalf of the world.

Songs flow freely without rhythm:
strings curl around the ear and linger,
legato piano soothes the air so the
muddled mind can breathe.

Memory plays dreams in a daze:
a soot-covered mind stains each
cloud it searches, for a flawless
complement to empty sheets.

Miles higher it’s amazingly black:
a second dream to erase the stars,
to darken space so it’s lit only
by the perfect someone as the sun.

Eyes rush open with perfect sight:
darkness remains to clarify the
source, for the darker the room,
the brighter the light.