subtext

in darkness I am almost content

not the shadowy dark of moonlight

dancing between leaves and branches

illuminating bits of bramble and rock

the way memory mottles most of what

I allow myself to know but black like

the proverbial hand before a face slap

to the forehead level of awareness

of nothing but me and the dark

yet not too sure where I leave off

and all else begins I’m staggered

to think perhaps I am as aware

of the dark as it of me as in not

at all like a bird believes in air