At 3 O’Clock in the morning
a vision comes.
Borne of one slightly open eye.
The fuzzy red numbers
of the alarm clock look
light years away, as if
at the other end of the known universe.
Like crystal blue stars on the far side
of the night.
You reach out to touch them,
so certain you can, only to find
they are an illusion
of the dark.
Is all light, seen this way,
so dimly distant and dreamy, yet piercing,
an illusion?
How can this be?
We simply want to touch the light.
As if, to become a part of it.
Beyond the dark.
To somehow break the sleepy bonds
put upon us,
to reach out, to be reached.
At 3 a.m. the stars, the alarm clock,
small hopes, distant light, all
are in control, manuevering the moments
of our dreams that dread
the coming alarm, the loss of rest, and
the uncertain dawn
filled with fears borne of the dark.
At 3 O’Clock in the morning
one longs
to touch some light,
if only to silence the awful alarm.
To join the stars
in sweet silent peace.
The purity of which
one can only come to know
by piercing small holes
through the terrible dark.
“The holiness of the real is always there, accessible in total immanence.” – Kenneth Rexroth (1905-1982)
Leave a Reply