Will I, one day, with
tentative hands,find
the resolve To draw
aside my heavy black drapes

And let the sunlight in again?
Will guilt molest my heart
for the need or the deed?

For not retracting
those hands that drew
the drapes aside?
Seeing it as I might,
after a month of Sundays,

Will I shield my eyes from it,

Or teach myself to
behold it anew?
That sunlight, I
wonder, if it will
swallow up the darkness

Or merely disguise it
in golden splendor?
There are places,
strange places,

Where the sun forgets
to shine every once in a while,

Where sunlight can’t
hide every blotch of darkness.

Those places, those
sunless rooms,
exist inside me.