This illumined, fucked up music of women and men
Touching each forehead, breathing a soul into each fucked up other

on earth where we are, stranger, through madness unattainable
or grace, in difficult traffic (what is silence? something of the sky in us) watch

each man reel and stumble from looking up too much, see
no one looking at the sky yells the

clarity of being this much alive. Thus
I (behind the eye what sleeps?) must from the blind borrow this light.