Mar 172004
Empty days, spotted nights of
countless camphor drops
or milky dew on a
silent web of gossamer black.
The cold night is home to
so much fire -- a billion suns!
too much light to belong
to those depths of endless black.
How could all those distant
daylight worlds,
taken together,
sum to such a lonely, empty black?
Perhaps their days are empty too
all glimmer with no shine;
sleeping midnight jellyfish, or
white glowbugs trapped
in a vast amber turned black.