You say 1, 2, 3—I smile as I think of Plato,
though we both should.
Looking up, seeing the morning light
stepping through the windows.
I say let’s count something else another time,
for now, let’s listen to the words.
Eyes closed, the dawn upon the wall and table
becomes an image (—not before).
You believe designations touch their referents:
trust beyond reason.
Speaking up, looking back, belief lights itself:
desired, cherished, loved.
I refer you to the philosopher, you laugh,
though we both should.
Though we should, we don’t—so stepping
through—light remains.
