White gold across every surface set up to catch it
in its own world, in the very face of which
I drown—illuminated beyond all honesty to be.
“It.” Whatever it is, it is more so now in its being
caught upon every shape of the very world
into which I find myself peering—sensing toward it.
A wall, a table, a face, a painting, my foot, my stack
of books, all these dimensions of the very world
in which I am—facing all honest illuminations.
__________
(Drawing above from notebook)
