Romeo
        from Under Virga

 
Joe Amato

AKA L=I=T=E.
 
And so it has come to this, then
the love of it, wherefore
when you get right down to it
we get it down to
a science,
                                (of all things
                                and note that dangling comma)
this thing
called poetry, an exact, goddamn'd
science, like physics, like
torture.
 
Were the light in her eyes
to go out
I would not stay the course.
 
Were the light in her eyes
to go out
I could not stay the course.
 
Were the light in her eyes
to go out
would have only incidentally to do
with the history of celestial bodies
                                (esp. the sun, the moon
                                and the stars, in that
                                order)
would extinguish light's essence
that minor detail detailing evidence
                                (cf., "All light is relevant to each light
                                & each light to every light")
of things seen, unseen
                                (and here, one might interject unsighted, equally secular
                                variants, as the unsighted are only
                                too aware)
but for a single, unfolding
optical event to mean
the world
or its absence, but for
this optical event, its presence
or absence, this second
by second amplitude of living
would end, would mean
that light had been assigned
its end, would have quit
its ends, the end
of all light, the dull ache
at the reaches of all love, a fact
that I would know, would
have known, which end or
fact I would
not want
to have known:
 
In which event
I should not
stay the course.
 
That's the theory, anyway. A light supper
will be served at nineteen hundred hours.