South Pole Station

        “There is no darkness
behind the sun” you say, you who have not
seen the sun in months, it being winter.
You thought about it once and couldn’t
stop, calculating volumes, investigating
temperatures of surface and depth.
You don’t remember depth.  You don’t remember
color, you spent days searching for a lamp
the color of the sun.
The sun is not a color but a disk
whose wavelength resonates your skin.

Plato mistook the good for the sun,
that day in Amsterdam the clouds parted,
you leapt up from the war memorial and
the world had been given back
finally.  You heard of people lost their eyes this way.