The bluish glow through dusty, opaque glass
infused with the intent to soften light
suffices for the time whose time will pass
until your brilliant brilliance beckons bright.
Did I say “beckon?” Laugh. I’m laughing too
at how I try to fit my blind desire
for what imagination says is you,
to what my aspirations all aspire.
I’m drunk on this idea that my soul
is like a spinning window, changing panes
from light to dark, the spectrum as a whole
is infinite; the barrier remains.
Perception’s filtered darkness lingers near
until you make it real. Come make it clear.