I didn’t ask,
I played with a string, calling it a wire, saying I would stop up my mouth with it,
(weaving blistering ribbons)
and never taste from the waters again.
my eyes have so many layers;
so many I would shed,
boxed and mounted like dead creatures
a single blow and the cavern is ignited;
and I, longing for nothing but shade;
the source of the light?