Genius Feeds From Another Kind Of Light
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Genius feeds from another kind of light:
Not the secular light of accepted wisdom;
Not the familiar, diurnal light
That regulates circadian rhythm;
That compensates for swollen, dissonant nights;
Not the surreal, violet light of twilight;
Not the neon glow of shadow kingdoms;
Not so novel under a lesser sun;
Not the monk's small light of sanctuary;
Not the lyrical light that punctuates
The vast, azure abodes of sky & sea;
Not the solitary light of candle flame
Flickering in archaic cathedrals
To complement obscure liturgies;
But the light that purifies lexicons
That streams, wave like, from unknown galaxies;
That burns through brittle illusory realms.
An invisible presence from afar
That impregnates spectral, alien forms
And most rare, incomprehensible stars;
The light that traces the contours of dreams
That doth plummet thousands of fathoms deep.
Genius feeds from another kind of light
Which for crude corporeal vision, is too bright.
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