THE hooded lamp-glow trimmed
The frayed edges of the darkness
In the room and built a friendly
Dome of light that held me in.

I sat, with translucent fingers turning
The pale pages of a book I held,
But scarcely read, yet sensing
Words instead: intimations
Of the dreams which moved
Outside my dome, like winged
And delicate wisps of life.

These portend the ultimate
This much I knew and sought hungrily
To send a filament of my soul upward
To pierce the shell between.

But the friendly lamp-glow trimmed
The darkness back and built a tiny dome
That held me in. Wearily I sat
With translucent fingers
Leafing the pale pages of a book.