It’s the coldest January I’ve known
the white light coming in
through the protective glass–
white, I think, like my grandmother’s
white sheets she’d hang in June.
The white light coming in
takes me for a turn and
I think for a moment in a slip–
is it color? Or space? Like
the space we can never fill
and then I remember where I am
and why I am here.
The emptiness fills me.
It’s hard when you learn
there is no God. [Read more...]