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We must be certain, it seems, of certain things –
to have a map of where we’ve been, photographic
evidence that we opened the shutters to let the light in.
Everybody’s got a camera on them – given-up
the lease on that open range in the brain
where we branded the extraordinary action,
the irreplaceable peace to become subjects –
given-up our memories to become one
star in the universe, light years away calling,
drawing us closer like moth to flame.
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