Shut off the sun. No, not dusk in cusp
of new moon, but an entirety of light
snuffed. Sun, stars of this galaxy,
distant galaxies. Shut off. An operative
of sense ruptured, a pupil expansive
in its dark adaptation. Vision
a limit of what it means to see.
What kind of sight feeds separation?
Spectrum plotted out to its waves,
and even our blinded planet
in its little sphere of known constants
with different eyes could see bundles
of creation in full radiant glow.
Yes, that moment of spark set down
to gods. Let there be. In all absences.
In all plentitudes. An idea. An origin.
One thing from our universe to its edge
that grasps starlight as a past. Let there be
something reached only through void.
Lisa Higgs’ second chapbook Unintentional Guide to the Big City was published by Red Bird Chapbooks in April 2015. Currently, Lisa teaches at the University of Illinois Springfield and is the Poetry Editor for Quiddity International Literary Journal.