If perhaps in sullen days I might slide back
to where I fell, a child, into the dark,
please wait with me as slowly I am brought
again into the light. Your love has brought
the truth to bear in silent corners, back-
rooms where thick lies have festered in the dark.
Although not whole, I’m neither lost in dark;
I mourn this languid baggage that I’ve brought,
yet every night and morning I come back
to see how far from dark I have been brought.
The Consolations of Writing 