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.