Colors of Sight

Do you see, your eyes

swim out so far from the shore,

wandering into the night,

floating upon the waves (heaving chest,

breath of fine threads, one ending

after the other's birth, the drops

of light weave

something so soft and bright)

hour upon the hour,

mounds and mounds, the rush of speech

which follows the evening

of eyelids, shut beyond, shut above

anything one could say or even know

is only that thing which

gently eludes all meaning, which bespokes

no ghosts, and then:

breathing into the light, the colors break

and wasn't it just like that

just like that?