Investiture
(for MMB.)
How much light can the pupil hold?
Carved away from the eye like the letter
O in love, like a pit mine blown up
where mountains had stood, the pupil
is designated by its lack to witness
created things. Vision means the aspect
of disclosure opened up by lack's
investiture in light. That the pupil
cannot close. While the eyelids shutter
and the iris may relax, pupil is only
a word referring to the clearing space
makes under the lens. That nothing
can alter this volumizing fact without
it ceasing. And yet that light is still
at the point of concern. Naked space
could have been blind and yet it sees.
Had the life of the mind been merely
the stem of the candelabra and not as well
its cup, openness would not have had its
meaning of capacity over and above
plain void. The stem as it rises exalted
clears the difficult journey, parting
even empty air from empty ocean,
valiant, assured of its victory in the form
of ascent. So is love, so is the vast
range of the mountains, the iris as well.
The impersonal tense of createdness ends
at this summit, when even disclosure as
such cannot be brought any further.
But there at the total impasse of completion,
the candelabra's cup wretchedly
asks for permission. Its hands are raised
that they might be anointed, that they
may hold a shred of light if only for
an instant. Is that uncertainty we call
vision always blown open. Wide open.