…everything that is illuminated becomes a light…
(Saint Paul)
Too dark, Leonard.
Just after Solstice, the days still short,
the dark surprised me in its early arrival,
and your first song grabbed me
with its midnight-pitch grip,
and Isaac bound by demons,
crying, Here I am, Lord.
These days are dark enough; I
turned from you to Bach,
where even wintry Leipzig
could sing with counterpoint.
I did not want it darker. The darkness always gapes
and I have fought for life to prise
myself out from its grip.
Hineni, hineni.
A cry of what? Of pain?
I cry, I cry, out to the Light
to banish dark again.
The Consolations of Writing 