Most have minds like vacant rooms;
Others wander to the rim of the canyon.
A few set off beyond that untouched fringe of our humanity.
Soft numbers seem to fill the borders of our lives;
Encircle us within that limited horizon.
We barely know of it when we arrive in this world,
Bereaved of light and unable to walk on our own.
Yet, the best of our best possess instincts
That extend clear of where we are in time and space.
Lucid eyes, made so by desperate desire,
Tie that invisible thread
Binding curiosity to delight.
What shall we call this?
A glimpse of alchemy?
Blinding ache?
Tomorrow’s filament of real and imagined light?
The whole of night is quiet, yet the mind not so.
It is something else.
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