Bright

Consider this:
that death may not be
a darkness, but a white light so harsh
we have to close our eyes.

See it then
as an illumination that we cannot face,
a lucence that we turn our backs against,
fearful of blindness.

And yet we know
the wavering shapes before our squinted eyes
are not quite true, they change too much
although we name them down.

Consider too,
though not with blind belief, the rumours
of the few who, opening their eyes to seeing light,
saw without shadows.

Perhaps whether death is
a darkness or a light finally depends on how you see
things. Sometimes when you really see a thing
in time, knowing it must go, it can seem so bright.