That’s why I seek the storms of the
night. The fury. The devastation. The
swirling darkness. The blind sin. To
the morning. To this morning. When I
have to be the sun. Not the sky. Not
the shadow. Force sight. Force
myself to see. I have to be the sun
that makes you visible. You exist again
and I have to see you as you really
are. Not calligraphed by rain. Not
embellished by mist. Not remembered
better than you can be. In the morning,
this morning, I have to be the sun
and you are still who you always were.
But now we cannot turn off the light.