From Michael, in the darkness,
still learning to speak of those things
that are speakable and unspeakable:
of history, of the creation
of meaning and its absence, of love,
of inarticulate voices that well up in me
from somewhere very old, of wanting
to believe while remaining a skeptic.
To Jenny, my fellow seeker, in a dark light
sitting in the networked omniscience
of unseen eyes that blink
in and out of closed-circuit being,
lost in the noise of so many
seen and seeing. We should give thanks:
Even the darkest pixel is luminous.
May that darkness light our way.
I’m afraid I don’t know
what we’re doing anymore.
All of this was new, once.
If it’s not new, it’s not anything.
The cult of novelty is one
of constantly accelerating negation.
But we know that chaos has always been
greater than the father of order and light.
Can you see your city glow
with closed eyes? What’s retained behind
all those towering unlit windows,
catching the light like so many nets?
One day all those lights will go out.
What are films with no lamps to project them?
Words with no readers? Histories with no futures?
I send these words to you so they’ll be read
while convincing myself I’m prepared
to embrace the darkness ahead of us.
May we learn to speak of these things
by saying all that they are not.