Confrontation

The night attaches herself to the earth like

an algae eater is fixed to the glass wall of an aquarium.

We are looking for shelter to allow our troubled

souls a windless spot. Hidden in our shadows

we warm ourselves at open fires, we do ourselves well

to fresh bread, drink scintillated red wine.

All of a sudden we witness a white light exploding

in the black window. Thunder? Fireworks?

This idea oozes like a sly thought through our brain:

when we no longer know the difference between

fireworks and thunder, what does it say about

the answers to other questions about our existence?