text || Lewis Gesner

What is Light, What is Sand…

drawing out, drawing near,
drawing up, drawing away…
how not to, burn from light

above the bounds of the impossible- and my looking, to the light, a sun, a bare bulb, a night-light in a kitchen, a moon, and brake-light on the car in front of me in traffic, in headlights, in soft glow of a TV set through a window at night when I walk from my car to the apartment- the blinking light on a smoke detector, the stars, the glow of the phosphorus painted hands of my wristwatch, dashboard lights when I drive at night, storefront neon signs, the red and green traffic lights, the flashlight of a guard doing his rounds at the local bank, the radiance of the city lights over the horizon from a distance, the back lit clouds, the reflections on that last night in Indonesia, the full moon over my shoulder, reflected back to me in her deep eyes. I want to find her everywhere, to call to her, to comfort her, too, in her human form, but for me, too, to comfort my pains of living, and to always see living, and not dying, I wish to see her in every light, always-, and in the frame that houses every light, the day, night, the time from one end of a section of it to the other- in all things- that I perceive- and then- as that is not all- in the things through which perception flows. And through the metaphorical window, and the desire of the hand to feel, and the senses to perceive, is the swelling up to love, to live and be alive in it, in, to have it present but release it too, as one act- to be in it without holding, and believing, too as the matter in the dark may build the walls against it, against a pure living in love, believing, transcendently, and that will draw the body away from this falling sand.