In the beginning there was darkness
and it’s still here though all we see
is light. What I mean is the oldest thing
in the world is invisible to us. Not only
invisible but terrifying. We fear the most
ancient truths of our world
which hide themselves
from brief
flickering
mortality.

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I had an odd moment earlier this week. I’d been listening to Suleika Jaouad’s The Book of Alchemy and began practicing the prompt from Ash Parsons Story’s “Just 10 Images.” After recording back-to-back images focused on light, I then wrote the following:

3. Pale white and gray bathroom tile, neat angular lines. The hexagon of the jacuzzi tub. So much geometry on the floor. Light and shape, one building the other. Maybe the only thing I ever see in a day is light. Wait, I think that’s real.

4. Light light light light light. Light reflecting on the white potter casing around the office door. Deep shadow leading dolefully down the hall. Light falling from the ceiling, shining in bursts on our lacquered desk tops. Light filtering through sheer curtains. Light making patterns in darkness.

Of course, light is literally how we see—like with our eyeballs. It struck me after I’d been repeatedly drawn to specific textures and instances of lightfall, but really light is all our vision all the time. So then, I wrote a poem.

And by the way, I’m scared of the dark.

Happy Friday.