Equals

Much comes undercover in darkness, not

just the knives of knowledge splitting hard spines

open to bone white; a lifeless life still plots

its course, joins dots, fills in blanks, realigns

the needles when due, minutely adjusts

to grains of paper, grains of feelings, slopes

of steep time, the slow build up of threats, dust

storms of hope and hopelessness, it still gropes

thin lightlines, turns its fingers back to pinch

itself, its open, oozing flesh, dabs at pus

and blood, congealed velvet that makes it cringe

and turns back and goes on, hungry, listless.

Much comes in darkness, but it still goes on

presuming epiphany somehow equals dawn.