I will wander through this darkness
without candles or lamps,
with nothing to guide me but
the imitation light of my own soul
and find within this blistering night
not a dead day, but a slumbering one.
I will trek across the whites of your eyes
into the bareness of your silence
and find stretched across your aging skin
not a dead man, but a tired one.
And if there were any way to stumble forth
into tomorrow, I would trip over my
own feet to do so, and come back to tell you
what the sunrise will look like, and how
the clock will continue to sing its life,
its ticking, tocking existence,
and we will be there together,
at least for now, not a vanished thing,
but a discovery waiting to happen.