Tonight I leave the white electric hum
of streetlights, those killing globes that cause
moths their last thrusts of faith and delirium.
Dumb believers, starving for light, the gauze
of their dead wings covers my fingers with dust.
I've learned from them a daring trust
in darkness saves a life. Tonight I leave
the tease of light's bright lies—
that led me, by its touch, to believe
I see. Walking through a dark field, my eyes
give in. Behind their lenses, in absence
of light, another aperture opens—the same sense
with which I watch in every sleep a life
inside my life take shape—as if another light
goes on beneath: a ship's lamp scanning reefs
that reveals a cave once lost to sight.
In that world shines a silver streaking eel,
the real light, that burns by what it feels.
Robert Fanning, from The Seed Thieves (Marick Press, 2006