when i stop pretending that all this
(black and sordid little universe,
two-dimensional two-penny-novel ghost-town nightmare
with its flat rainbows and paste diamonds
and petty-dictator god) is okay,
then i know
that outside is the velvety darkness of a bigger universe . . .
the aching glitter of stars and
. . . cool ripples of air, Japanese maples . . .
everywhere the flashing hints of a different God
and frantically i tear down these paper walls surrounding me
to find that light seeping in