I will turn out the overhanging lamp,
write by the light of the sun
setting within an aura of crimson glow,
touching pencil to the feel of paper
scraps on the table fading into shadows.

Darkness is another world to be
written of in other ways than with light
pervasive and intruding with bright beams.
How else can I write of gleams
that are stars and worlds spinning
so far and fast so that they are beyond
the reach of revealing light?

I will write by the radiance of deep shadows
sweeping low over my western horizon
a wordless journal of my own mind,
written in filamented whorls
careening through sublime feral country –
unable to see what lies before me.

I will try to understand, touch
what is real about the unknown
that, in light, I thought I knew.
What doorways, open to me, have I passed
believing I could see the way or, illumined
ignored paths I once had travelled?
Darkness may reveal I knew them not
nor where they now would lead.

I will practice darkness for  a time
write within its hallowed enclosure,
walk with it, as if with a monk, hooded
old, scarred – forgiveness upon forgiveness
in fields of fading memories
through lavish pastures of green life.

Portland, Oregon – August 31, 2016