jet-trail cleaving
the slow rainbow of layered light
sunset pool of sky

at the sight I wonder
would a man born blind feel that sky
a liquid cataract
opening pores
sliding under skin to fill his body

light is
an overarching ocean
which wraps us
in ever-deepening waves

each day a radiant lake
and even the night
sprinkles us with stars

with open eyes
we watch the individual splendor
of color after color
raining upon us
in moment after moment
on storm days
filtered through clouds
the silver pure rays drip down
paler slighter here
in shining sheets at the horizon

through those veils
in sometimes moments like gifts
we see how light looks
at its most liquid
painted from seven hues

do all seven permeate our flesh
with special vitality
like water and air to recreate our cells

light is essential

the blind cannot survive
unless it seeps into them
and they feel it
breathe it
drink it with the thirsty skin at every second

life layers a glowing sediment
strained out of the days
but only seeing
we feel no residue of time

a blind man could tell us
wonders
how the light pours
how he feels it erode us
into the shape of ourselves