by Geoff Baker
That night, that year, Of now done darkness… – Hopkins I glanced behind me – quickly, once, in fear – and then I let it go forever. And when I stepped outside, there was still light. I blinked, and flexed my weary hands and couldn’t see the clouds for sky, the earth for light, my brackish memory left behind in shadows more obscure than night, more ardent than brimstone. My head rang in tympanic throbs, as if I’d stood up too fast. And at the bright black spasm of its rhythm, I stretched my arms up through the sky; I am a creature of the sun.